


The Journey

by lantur



Category: Castlevania (Cartoon), 悪魔城ドラキュラ | Castlevania Series
Genre: Eventual Romance, F/M, Friendship, Romantic Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-25
Updated: 2019-02-21
Packaged: 2019-08-29 00:38:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 31,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16733688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lantur/pseuds/lantur
Summary: Trevor and Sypha, post season two.[Part one: Trevor and Sypha reunite with Alucard, Sypha and Alucard have a confidential talk, and Sypha helps Trevor with an issue that's keeping him up at night.Part two: Trevor and Sypha reunite with Sypha's Speaker caravan, and their travels take them to an autumn harvest festival.Part three: Trevor and Sypha celebrate Christmas with Alucard.Part four: Sypha is captured by agents of the Church.Part five: Trevor and Sypha navigate changes to their relationship.Part six: Trevor and Sypha deal with a surprise.Part seven: Epilogue]





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to my Trevor, and to Caroline.

Sypha is the one to kill the last vampire in Braila.

It isn’t her most elegant spell. She simply lights him on fire. When it is over, she sinks to her knees where she stands, in the middle of the dark alley. This hadn’t been a fight on the scale of defeating Dracula’s generals, but her exhaustion is cumulative. That had been one explosive fight. This has been close to a week of combat night after night, flushing out every last vampire in the town.

Trevor comes to her side. He eases her to her feet, supporting her with one hand on her back, and the other on her arm. His hands are gentle and warm. She leans against him, weary to the bone. Maybe it’s just her exhaustion getting the better of her, but she wishes he would never let go. “Hey,” he says. “Are you all right?”

Sypha closes her eyes. “I’m tired,” she says, and she means it, from the bottom of her heart. Not just from the past several nights in Braila, but from the three months before this, of ceaseless travel and combat and tension. “I need to rest.”

“We’re done here,” Trevor replies, eyeing the piles of ash in the alley. “We’ll get you to bed. It’s going to be okay. I’m sure you’ll feel better in the morning.”

“Thanks,” she says.

“Actually,” Trevor adds, as they slowly make their way out of the alley. He’s limping a little, and she resolves to check on the injury later. “You __are__ going to feel better in the morning. You know why?”

Sypha winces, placing a hand to her side. One of the vampires had thrown her hard against a the side of a building, and she’s worried that the rib might be fractured. She’s too worn out to banter with him as they usually do. “Why?”

“Because we are going on a vacation.”

Sypha brightens. “We’re going to see Alucard?”

“I was thinking more along the lines of those hot springs in Craiova, or that beer festival in Iasi we heard about when we were traveling through last month…” Trevor looks down at her and smiles. “But sure, we can go and see Alucard.”  

She squeezes his arm. “You always know what to say to make me feel better.”

They’re moving slowly, nursing their various injuries, and it takes them more than forty painful minutes to reach their inn, on the outskirts of Braila. They’re both similar degrees of filthy, dusty, and bloody, but they collapse into the narrow bed fully clothed, shoes still on, curled toward each other, and fall asleep within moments.

* * *

It takes a week of travel from sunrise to sunset to make their way back to the Belmont Hold and Dracula’s castle. For the first time since setting out on their journey after Dracula’s defeat, they travel at a leisurely pace and don’t go seeking trouble. No demons or monsters to vanquish from towns and cities, just the open road.

It is the break Sypha needed. It is nice to have a brief spell of peace and quiet, a respite from bloodshed and injury. Besides, as naturally as magic comes to her, it does drain her energy and physical reserves. This is the first opportunity she has had to recover fully in a long time.

There is just one reason she misses the thrill of the fight. For months - ever since they met, actually - combat against the monstrous night hordes have been a distraction from her travel companion.

Not that Trevor is so insufferable and obnoxious that she needs to be distracted from him. Quite the opposite, in fact.

Sypha has never been prone to crushes. Ever since she was a teenager, she could acknowledge a handsome man with one look, and a brief, clinical observation in her mind that yes, he was attractive. And then she would move on, her mind already occupied with more pressing matters, like a new spell she was studying or creating, or how to modify an old one she had mastered, or her Speaker duties.

She’d only had one real, significant experience with attraction, before. He was a physician in the town of Szolnok. Soft-spoken, kind, passionate about helping the townspeople, and so very intelligent. She had hung onto every word out of his mouth. But she was sixteen, and he was twice her age. When she found out he was engaged to be married, she had cried for the rest of the night and avoided him until the Speakers moved on to their next town. For two months after leaving Szolnok, she had thrown herself into her studies with zealous passion, redirecting every bit of longing she had felt for him into the study of magic.

For four years, Sypha lived in peace, until Trevor Belmont rescued her from a cyclops under the city of Gresit.

It was all downhill from there. She had developed feelings for him, completely by accident, and they had hit her with astonishing force and suddenness. By the time they had spent their first night in the Belmont library, she was already too far gone.

Monsters, demons, and vampires distract her from Trevor’s presence. They distract her from her frustrating, involuntary, ridiculous intrusive thoughts about how he’s feeling today, his voice, his face, his hands, when he smiles, how incredibly brave and determined he is, how smart he can be when he actually makes an effort, how stupidly __happy__  she is just to talk with him and have his company as they travel. Whether they’re trading insults at one another or at the Church, or speculating about what they will encounter in the next village they happen upon and how they can help the people there, or sharing memories and stories of their pasts, or discussing something deeper.

Without the monsters, demons, and vampires, it is just the two of them. Trevor seems relaxed and unbothered. He sleeps more soundly at night than she has ever seen him sleep before, one arm thrown over his face, snoring lightly. Sypha lies awake beside him for a good portion of each night and wonders at the perversity of it all, at how she can be so happy and so filled with hopeless, melancholy longing at the same time.

* * *

They arrive at Dracula’s castle - Alucard’s castle, now - late on the eighth afternoon of their journey. Trevor and Sypha make their way up the steps of the castle, and Sypha raises her hand to knock politely. Trevor just pulls a knife from a pocket of his cloak and bangs on the door with the handle until Alucard pulls it open.

“I see that Sypha still hasn’t taught you manners,” he says dryly, but the effect is somewhat spoiled by the fact that he is smiling like Sypha has never seen him smile before.

She leaps forward and gives Alucard a hug, and even Trevor manages a companionable pat on his shoulder.

The three of them start talking almost at once and they continue for hours, lingering over a dinner of an enormous roasted chicken, sliced strawberries covered in sugared almonds for dessert, and then drinks. One glass of warm mulled wine for Sypha, a couple of tankards of ale for Alucard, and more than a couple of tankards of beer for Trevor.

She has countless fond memories of nights around the fire with her Speaker caravan. Dinners with Trevor, either huddled around a campfire or shared at some disreputable tavern or another, are more of a treasured part of her daily routine than she would ever admit. But this is comfortable, truly, classically comfortable, in a way that those nights haven’t been. Each of them has a velvet armchair to settle in, not a spot on the ground or a narrow, splintering bench. (Alucard sits upright, like a perfect noble gentleman. Sypha curls her knees to her chest and settles against the back of the chair. Trevor sprawls and slouches in a way that can’t be comfortable, although he looks as content as a cat who has gotten into the cream.) A large fire roars in the hearth, warming her cheeks and hands, and there is no need to retreat into a cloak or blanket for shelter.

“I can’t believe it,” Alucard says, shaking his head. “I __wouldn’t__  believe it if Sypha hadn’t corroborated your story.”

“Your distrust wounds me,” Trevor deadpans, taking a long draft of his beer. “I’m a reliable source all on my own. When have you ever known me to falsify or exaggerate a tale?”

Sypha deliberately looks at the ornate grandfather clock in the corner of the room. “Oh, about fifteen minutes ago. Our prison guards were little more than pimply teenagers. Hardly as menacing as you painted them.”

Alucard laughs, and Trevor halfheartedly tosses a throw pillow at her. “Quiet, you. One of them certainly looked like he had some troll blood in him.”

“Seriously, though,” Alucard says. “I’m surprised that a human acted with such depravity. Dismembering ten townspeople and scattering their limbs about the village. I __would__ have believed it was a werewolf or a demon from the night hordes, as everyone suspected.”

“We thought so at first too. That it would be a simple matter of finding and destroying the creature. It was only after Trevor and I were framed and arrested that we realized that of course a demon or any of the creatures from the night hordes wouldn’t have the ability to do such a thing.” Sypha shrugs. “And then he slipped up. He made a kill outside of the full moon. It was clear we were looking at a human suspect then.”

Trevor does a mock bow. “Another mystery solved by Belmont and Belnades.”

“Belnades and Belmont,” Sypha corrects, and then plunges ahead before Trevor can whine about it. “Tell me everything that you know about werewolves, Alucard. Trevor didn’t remember anything about them being written in the Belmont library. It wasn’t a werewolf this time, but if we ever encounter another situation where we suspect werewolf involvement, we need to know what to do.”

“Trevor doesn’t remember anything about werewolves in the Belmont library due to memory loss from years of gratuitous alcohol abuse,” Alucard replies, straight-faced. “There are three whole volumes on werewolves in the Sara Wing. Bound in werewolf hide, no less. It’s pretty disgusting. At least your ancestors managed to get the wet dog smell out, Belmont.”

“I have had it with the verbal abuse,” Trevor declares, before draining his tankard to the last drop and standing a bit unsteadily. “And the last thing I want to do is talk werewolves before bed. It may give me nightmares. Should we save this for breakfast?”

Sypha is starting to grow tired, after the long day and the heavy meal. It’s been so nice to catch up with Alucard, though, and she isn’t ready to end the night yet. “I’ll stay down here for a while,” she says, looking up at Trevor. “Good night.”

“Night,” he says, turning away and lifting a hand. “Also, fuck you.”

This last is directed to Alucard. Sypha sighs, and Alucard cheerfully gives Trevor’s back the finger. “Don’t get lost,” he calls.

They hear his slow movement out of the sitting room and up the stairs, and then his footsteps fade from earshot. Alucard glances at her. “Does he really get nightmares?” he asks, lowering his voice. “I couldn’t tell whether he was just being Trevor, or being serious.”

“Yes,” Sypha admits, after a moment. “I think we all do. But I think that Trevor’s pre-date ours.”

Alucard’s face settles into the familiar lines of sadness. “Yes,” he says softly. “That makes sense.”

Sypha reaches over and takes his hand. “How have you been?” she asks. “I’ve thought of you every day. Both of us have, really. Neither of us wanted to leave you alone here. I can’t imagine how hard it must be.”

Alucard looks away, but he doesn’t pull back. “It’s been difficult,” he says, after a long while. The light from the fire casts flickering shadows on his face. “I would like to tell you it’s easier every day, but it’s not quite. Some days, some weeks, it is easier every day. Then the next day, I’ll wake up and I’ll see something that triggers a memory of before, and it’ll be four steps back.”

“I’m so sorry,” Sypha whispers, squeezing his hand. She hates feeling so useless, so powerless to help. If there was only a spell she could cast; but this is something even beyond the powers of magic. “Is there anything I can do to help you? If you want to talk, about anything, I will listen.”

Alucard looks back at her, and with effort, he gives her a small smile. “That’s a kind offer,” he says sincerely. But…” he sighs. “I spend enough time with my own thoughts, in my own head. I don’t want to dwell on any of that while I’m in your company…and Trevor’s. I’d rather hear about what’s going on with you.”

He fixes her with a rather perceptive look, then, and Sypha fidgets. “You’ve heard the good stories,” she says. “Although, now that you mention it, I forgot to tell you about this time that Trevor had to pose as a baker in Sebes.”

Alucard raises an eyebrow. “As intriguing as this sounds, that’s not what I was getting at, and you know it.”

Sypha unwittingly channels Trevor and slouches in the armchair guiltily. “I don’t,” she says unconvincingly. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Ah, you’re going to make me get embarrassingly specific. What’s going on with you and Belmont?” Alucard asks. “Are you f--”

“No!” Sypha snaps, feeling her face growing hot. “Absolutely not!” 

“Okay,” Alucard replies, unfazed. “But you want to be.”

“No!” she protests, and it takes an effort to keep her voice low. The last thing she needs is for Trevor to overhear this conversation. “Not at all! It isn’t like that!”

Alucard rolls his eyes. “Please, Sypha. Don’t insult me by denying it. I’m not blind, or deaf. I see how you two are together. I saw it back when we first found the Belmont library, and you two have been off by yourselves for months now.”

She grabs the pillow that Trevor had tossed at her earlier and squeezes it hard. “Ugh! You’re just as bad as he is!”

Alucard laughs. Sypha groans, burying her face in the pillow and wondering if she could smother herself with it. “Don’t laugh,” she says, muffled by the pillow. “This is embarrassing enough without you rubbing it in.”

“It’s __Trevor Belmont__ you’ve got your eye on. You __should__ be embarrassed.”

Sypha slumps deeper into the pillow. Alucard laughs again, before reaching over and patting her on the shoulder. “I’m just teasing you.”

“I know,” Sypha mumbles, sitting up. She still feels flushed. “There really is nothing going on between us, though. Trevor and I are just friends. As you and I are.”

 Alucard looks unconvinced, but he humors her. “You could change that, you know.”

 “I think I’ve made my feelings quite clear!” Sypha crosses her arms. “I haven’t been shy or coy about how I feel for him. I haven’t danced around it. I suggested that we travel together, months ago. We walk arm-in-arm, we rest against each other while traveling, we sleep together, literally. And yet--” She bites her lip, fighting a sudden ache in her chest. “Nothing more than that.”

 “That’s because Belmont is an idiot. A stone-cold moron. I know you say you haven’t been shy or coy about your feelings, and most __normal__ men would have taken the hint months ago, but again. Belmont is an idiot. You’d probably have to kiss him before he got it.” Alucard rolls his eyes again.”It’s good that that wouldn’t be a problem for a woman as brave as you.”

 “I don’t know,” Sypha says quietly, looking into the fire. “I’d be lying to you if I said I hadn’t thought of it. Or been tempted. But - I don’t know.”

 Alucard looks at her curiously. “Are you nervous?”

 She hears the rest of his sentence, the __You’ve fought and defeated the generals of Dracula’s army,__ and curls into herself defensively. “This - the way I feel for Trevor, the things I feel - it is all very new to me,” she says, making a terse gesture with her hands. “I know that many women my age are mothers. But I have always been more occupied with my studies and with my duties as a Speaker than with boys. Or men.”

 Alucard takes it in. “Ah,” he says, finally understanding. He reaches over and takes her hand in his cool one, and Sypha reluctantly meets his gaze. “You have nothing to be nervous about,” he says simply. “You remind me of my mother, you know. You’re smart, fearless, determined, passionate, kind, and gifted. And beautiful. That’s clear to anybody who’s spent any time with you, let alone anyone who knows you as Trevor and I do. And Trevor - he’s an idiot, yes. But he __knows__ you, and to know you is to love you. I wouldn’t worry.”

 Sypha just looks at him, stunned. Before he can move back, she throws her arms around his shoulders. “Thank you, Alucard,” she whispers.

 Alucard pats her on the back. “You can repay me by naming your firstborn after me, no matter how he protests.”

 She pulls back, and can’t help but giggle. “We will see.”

 Alucard glances at the clock in the corner of the room and winces. “I’ve kept you up way too late,” he says. “I forget that humans need to sleep more than I do. I’m sorry. It’s almost one. Do you want me to walk you back to your room, or do you remember where it is?”

 “I remember.” Sypha stands, gathering her blue Speaker cloak from the armchair. She reaches down, resting a hand on his shoulder. “Good night.”

 “See you in the morning.”

 Sypha makes her way up the grand staircase, shaking out her cloak and wrapping it around her. There’s a chill in the air away from the fire, and her heart aches to think of Alucard wandering this great castle all alone. If she could just find a spell to conceal this place from others’ eyes, and lock the studies and the laboratories and the libraries away from plunderers, then he could travel with her and Trevor. It will be much better for him to have their company all the time, instead of once every few months. Besides, It had been nice to confide in Alucard, to speak her mind openly.

She had loved her Speakers as members of her family, but that being said, there had been no one her age that she had been able to bond with like she had with Trevor and Alucard. __It’s a strange thing, to love people but still not quite be able to call them friends,__ she reflects. Before Trevor and Alucard, the only person she had ever truly confided in, sharing her feelings honestly, was her grandfather.

There’s a light on in the small library in the guest suite, down the hall from her room and Trevor’s. Sypha glances in as she passes, expecting that Alucard must have left it on earlier in the day. She stops dead when she sees Trevor, slouched in an armchair near the lamp, absorbed in a book.

He must have noticed her, because he stops reading and looks over at the entrance. “Hey,” he says.

“Hey yourself,” Sypha replies nonchalantly, masking a moment of inward panic. There is no way that he could have heard her conversation with Alucard, right? They had kept their voices down. “I thought you were tired?”

“I was. Am.” He carefully marks his page with the black satin bookmark. “Bedroom’s weird, though. I couldn’t get comfortable. I checked out yours, too, to see if I’d have better luck there. Same thing.”  

Sypha frowns. That seems hard to believe. “I’ve seen you sleep like a baby while sharing a stall with livestock in barns,” she says. “What’s wrong with the rooms?”

“See for yourself,” Trevor says. He stands and yawns, before tucking the book under his arm and proceeding out of the library.

Sypha follows, after extinguishing the lamp. “For the record, I resent that you thought of stealing my room.”

“Turnabout is fair play, and all that.” He looks back at her and smirks. “I don’t complain when you steal the blankets at night.”

“I do no such thing!”

Trevor had left the door to his guest room ajar, and he pushes it open, leading her in. The only illumination comes from the fire in the hearth, but that is enough. He gestures expansively at their surroundings. “Yours is the same.”

Sypha takes it in, wide-eyed. It’s a little surreal. The bed is simply massive, covered with not one or two blankets but three, in varying shades of dark blue and gray, and to call them simply blankets would be a disservice. Blankets as she knows them are rough, plain, homespun. She slips her boots off and pads across the room, her feet sinking into the impossibly thick, plush rug that covers the stone floor. She reaches out and brushes her palm across the top blanket. It is incredibly soft and sleek, but heavy at the same time. Just one of them would be more than enough to warm her, and she can’t help but think back to all the nights outside where she’s shivered under three thin blankets.

“I’ve never seen anything like this,” she says wonderingly. This is even softer than rabbit’s fur. “I’ve heard of it, though. Is this velvet?”

“Yeah, it is.” Trevor comes to stand beside her. He’s very close, and he leans down and presses his palm into the blanket, next to hers. His hand dwarfs hers. “Sit down. Or lie down.”

Sypha settles onto the bed, feeling rather conscious of his presence, but even that can’t distract her from the next shock. “Oh!” she exclaims, startled. It’s like she’s __sinking. “__ It’s like what I thought a cloud would feel like, when I was little.”

Trevor sits beside her. “That’s a good way to put it.”

Sypha stretches her arms out, still feeling a little bemused by the way the bed seems to contour to her body. It’s so soft, so pliant. “What don’t you like about this?” she asks. “It’s very comfortable. It’s more than comfortable, really. This is the definition of luxury.”

“It’s __too__ comfortable.” He grimaces. “It’s too much.”

She sits up. “Explain?”

Trevor shrugs one shoulder. “I’m not used to this,” he says shortly. “I’m used to the ground, sleeping underneath my cloak. Or on a hard bed in some inn. That’s been my life for the past ten years.” He looks at her out of the corner of his eye. “Remember how on edge you were, the first time we slept in an inn? You said you missed looking up to see the moon and the stars. You felt trapped.”

Sypha nods. “I remember.”

He opens his mouth as if to say something, and then falls into a brooding silence. Sypha nudges him. “Hey,” she says. “Is there something else that’s bothering you?”

Trevor sighs, running a hand through his already-disheveled hair. “The last time I slept in a room like this was the night before the mob came for my family,” he says, finally, and she notices the pronounced dark circles under his eyes. “My room, when I was a kid - it looked kind of like this. It felt like this. With the blue velvet blankets and everything. I lay down tonight and I tried to sleep and I just…I couldn’t.”

She embraces him without hesitation. “I’m so sorry, Trevor.”

He rests his chin on the top of her head, and places a hand on her back. “That last night, I think I fell asleep excited about some hunting trip my dad was going to take me on the next day,” he says. He sounds so far away. “I had no idea. No fucking idea.”

Sypha pulls back and looks at him, before resting a gentle hand against his cheek. “There’s nothing worse than thinking about the moment before everything changed,” she says. “ And remembering the person who you were before that moment. In that last night when everything was still normal.”

“Isn’t that the fucking truth,” Trevor replies bitterly. To her surprise, he takes her hand, resting it between both of his own. “What was that moment for you? If you don’t mind me asking.”

Sypha swallows over the lump in her throat. “It’s all right,” she says. “I remember the last real conversation I had with my parents, before they sickened with the plague. We argued because they felt I was studying magics that were too advanced for me. They were dead within the week.”

He puts an arm around her shoulder, pulling her close. “Fuck God,” he says, with his usual succinctness. “That’s awful. I’m sorry.”

Sypha wipes at the corner of her eyes discreetly. “I agree. Though…”

“What is it?”

“You know that I am not religious,” she says, looking up at him. “But one could argue that the God who so cruelly orphaned you and I, and Alucard, is the same one who led the three of us to find one another.”

“You’re such an optimist,” Trevor grumbles. “Such a ray of sunshine. It’s a little obnoxious.”

She can’t help but smile at hearing him sound more like his usual self. She rises, grabbing a pillow from the head of the bed. “Yes, well, now that I think of it, I have a solution for your little bedroom problem.”

Trevor coughs. “Can you not call it that?”

“If the shoe fits…” Sypha tugs at the top blanket until he moves, and pulls it off the bed. It’s incredibly heavy in her arms, and trails against the ground. “Don’t just stand there and stare. Make yourself useful and take the other pillow.”

“I’m not even going to ask.” Trevor does as she says, and follows her as she makes her way out of the room.

She leads him back to the library, and unceremoniously deposits the pillow and blanket on the large rug in front of the bookshelf. She kneels, straightening the arrangement. “Give me the other pillow.”

He hands it to her, and Sypha looks at her handiwork, pleased. “There you go,” she says. “Now you have a hard floor to sleep on. I brought the blanket because there’s no fireplace in here, but I figured that you can use your cloak as your primary blanket so it feels more familiar.”

Trevor looks at her with an unreadable expression, which is a little unusual. Normally he’s clearly either disgruntled, determined, content, hungry, or troubled, with the occasional contemplative or thoughtful look sprinkled in. “Thank you,” he says.

Sypha wills herself to keep from blushing. “I just wanted you to sleep well. You snipe at poor Alucard so much more when you’re tired.”

Trevor snorts. “Poor Alucard, my ass.” He settles down on the floor, stretching out with a sigh and looking much more comfortable. He closes his eyes, and then cracks one open to look at her. “Well, are you coming to sleep or not? __You__ snipe at poor me so much more when you’re tired.”

“Oh, I--” Sypha starts, flustered. They sleep together outside to stay warm, and they share a bed when they stay at inns because they can only ever afford one room and neither of them is going to sleep on the floor. But she has a perfectly serviceable room here. Now that she thinks about it, though, maybe it would feel strange to sleep away from Trevor after months of sleeping beside him. She’s surprised he even asked, and he’s looking at her expectantly.

“I thought you didn’t like how I supposedly steal blankets,” she manages to recover, settling down beside him as casually as she can. Trevor offers her a portion of his cloak, and she pulls the velvet blanket over both of them.  

“I don’t. But the way you talk in your sleep kind of helps me fall asleep. Distracts me from the internal monologue of the grim business of saving Wallachia from the forces of evil, and all that.”

“Happy to be of service.”

They rest in companionable silence for a while. Trevor’s presence is as warm, solid, and reassuring at her side as it always is, and Sypha is on the verge of falling asleep when he speaks. “You always are,” he says. “I don’t tell you this enough, Sypha, but you’re a great friend. The best I’ve ever had.”

Maybe not quite the words she dreams of hearing, but they warm her heart nevertheless. She turns her head to the side, resting it against his shoulder. “So are you, Trevor.”

Trevor places his hand on hers, another surprise, and she drifts off to sleep with a small smile on her face.


	2. Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trevor and Sypha reunite with Sypha's Speaker caravan, and take an unexpected detour in their travels.

They stay at Alucard’s castle for two weeks, and the time passes too quickly. The three of them spend a considerable part of it in the Belmont library, gathering information about the supernatural enemies they have yet to face. They find a map of Wallachia and cover it in notes with information that all of them have heard about what creatures wreak havoc, and where. In addition to the night hordes and vampires that have been roaming around the country since Dracula summoned them, nightwraiths have been spotted in the small towns and villages of the east. There are stories of strange creatures called skinwalkers coming out of the larger cities as well.

There are four towns on the map where Alucard has heard of vampire witches that suck the blood of infants and children while they sleep at night, and then turn into moths or bees to make their escape. “Shtriga,” he says, tapping the spots on the map. “You can’t just stake them. You’ll need holy water, and plenty of it. You can’t douse them in it until you force them to cure the kids they’ve been feeding on. Otherwise the kids will never recover their strength, and they’ll waste away and die.”

“Great,” Trevor mutters, taking notes. There are only so many books they can carry with them, so both of them have filled scrolls with notes. “Should be easy enough.”

“You’ll have your work cut out for you,” Alucard says, looking troubled. “Where are you headed first?”

“We have to deal with the shtriga, so I figure we’ll start in Busteni.” Sypha eyes the map, frowning. “We’re taking some time to meet up with my Speaker caravan first, though. It’s something I wanted to do when we left last time, but we got sidetracked with those vampires in Rupea. I haven’t seen my grandfather since Gresit, and I hope he’s well.”

She and Trevor set out at sunrise the next morning. Alucard embraces her, and even Trevor, before they go. “Travel safely,” he says. He gives them a small smile, but she can still see the worry in his eyes. He stands on the front steps of the castle until their wagon disappears from view.

Both of them are quiet, lost in their own thoughts. “That place is going to seem really quiet now,” Trevor says, at last. “I’m glad we went. It was good for all of us. But I think that the next few days are going to be hard for him.”

Sypha takes his arm. He’s gotten so much more considerate than he was when they had first met. “We’ll be back by midwinter,” she says. “It’s just a few months from now. And by then, I should have finished writing the sealing spell that will disguise and lock up the castle and the library. Alucard can join us when we resume our journeys after the new year.”

It takes them just four days of traveling from town to town and asking around to track down her Speaker caravan. They are in Timisoara, helping rebuild a portion of the town that had been destroyed in terrible mudslides earlier in the year. Sypha spots her grandfather while he is carrying a pile of lumber, moving slowly and deliberately toward a building site. She shouts at him from across the town square, and Trevor has to hold her back from dashing right across the road and into the path of several horses pulling carts of building equipment.

She rushes to him, Trevor close behind, as soon as the coast is clear. Trevor relieves her grandfather of the pile of lumber, lifting the heavy load out of his arms with ease. “I’ll take care of all of this,” he says, nodding toward the site and the other Speakers at work. “You and Sypha should go catch up. I saw a tea stall in the other side of the street. I can find you there later.”

“Thank you,” Mateo says, and he hugs her close. Sypha smiles at Trevor in thanks, before returning her grandfather’s embrace. She breathes in deeply, trying to contain the sudden swell of emotion. He smells of ink and peppermint, just like he always has, and sawdust, from the labor of the day. She hasn’t seen him in more than four months, and he seems smaller than she remembers, frailer.

“It’s been so long,” she says. “I’m so sorry I didn’t find you sooner.”

“I knew you were all right,” her grandfather replies, pulling back. He touches her face gently, as if he can’t believe she’s really there. “Every so often I hear stories of your travels through Wallachia. A few weeks ago we ran into a merchant from Braila who saw a young woman in a Speaker’s cloak set a vampire alight.” He smiles wryly. “It couldn’t have been anyone else.”

Sypha takes his arm, and they walk to the tea stall together. Upon seeing their blue cloaks, the proprietor immediately brings over two steaming cups of chamomile tea, and leaves with a smile. Sypha wraps her hands around the hot mug, breathing in the delicate aroma. “It’s wonderful to see Speakers being treated well here. I haven’t forgotten what happened in Gresit.”

“We’ve been helping with the rebuilding effort here, and they’ve been very kind to us. The town’s councilman even offered to let us stay through the winter.” Mateo sighs. “We’ll consult together, of course, but I might take them up on that offer. Traveling in winter is getting more difficult every year.”

“You should stay here.” Sypha looks at him anxiously. “Trevor and I have been doing everything we can to exterminate the night hordes and the vampires that Dracula summoned, but it’s still not safe. I don’t like to think of you and the caravan on the roads, or camping out in the open, in the long nights of winter.”

Her grandfather pats her on the hand. “Don’t worry. I think we’ll stay. Anamaria and Elena are both near due, and it will be better for them to be here than on the road in winter.”

Sypha curls her fingers around his. “How have you been?” she asks. “Tell me everything that’s happened since Gresit.”

Mateo smiles. “I would rather hear from you first,” he says. “The things I’ve heard defy belief.”

“It’s all true,” Sypha says. She relays her story as thoroughly but concisely as she can, starting from Gresit, and the road to Arges, to their time in the Belmont library, the fight against Dracula and his generals, and then her travels with Trevor through Wallachia. Her grandfather listens silently, giving her his rapt, undivided attention..

“It is amazing,” he says, after she is finally finished. The sun has sunk in the sky and the two of them have almost finished an entire pot of tea between them. “It is incredible. This is a story that will be told for ages to come. Sypha…” He shakes his head, looking somewhat dazed. “I am torn. You can’t imagine how proud I am of you. But I am worried. I know that you are saving lives, helping countless people, but at the same time, part of me wishes you had just rejoined our caravan after Dracula fell.”

Sypha looks at him sadly. “I know,” she says, and she reaches across and takes both of his hands. “But this is my calling, as surely as being a Speaker was yours and Mother’s and Father’s. I’ve seen what the night hordes and the vampires do to innocent people. I’ve seen how they prey on us. I won’t be able to rest as long as I know that they’re out there.”

Mateo’s shoulders slump somewhat. “I always suspected your calling lay elsewhere,” he says, and he looks down at the table. “Your parents did, as well. It gives me an amount of comfort to know that at least you’re not alone on this path.”

Sypha thinks of Trevor, and of Alucard. “No,” she says. “I’m not.”

Her grandfather clears his throat. “Is he good to you?” he asks softly.

Sypha looks up at him, startled. “Trevor? Yes, of course. He’s my best friend. And he’s a remarkable man. I couldn’t ask for a better companion on this journey.” She pauses, tilting her head to the side. “What is it?”

“It’s bittersweet, hearing you say that.” Mateo laughs softly, but there’s pain in it. “Your mother said the same thing to me, once. _Paulo is my best friend,_ she told me, around half a year after they met.”

Sypha swallows hard, setting her cup of tea down. Even after all these years, it’s still so hard to talk about her parents, even to think about them. “I didn’t know that.”

Mateo nods. “They were married the next year.”

Sypha blushes. She had been able to deny it to Alucard, for a time, but she can’t lie to her grandfather. “I…”

“I trust your judgement, Sypha,” her grandfather says simply. “If Trevor Belmont has your regard, then I know he is a good man, and worthy of you. But I beg you, please, be careful. The Belmont name still is not looked favorably upon in Wallachia. The Church has placed a target on his back.”

“Grandfather…”

“I know the story of the Belmont family,” her grandfather says. “Catina Tihomir was an armorer’s daughter who caught the eye of Daniel Belmont. They married and had one son, Trevor. You know the rest.”

Sypha closes her eyes. Catina and Daniel. Trevor’s never mentioned his parents’ names. “I do,” she whispers.

“The mob drew and quartered Daniel, and they burned Catina at the stake, as a witch. They would have done the same to Trevor, if he hadn’t escaped.”

She feels sick all of a sudden, and she grips the table to steady herself. Alucard’s mother had been burned as a witch too. It makes her stomach turn, to think of the agony that Catina and Lisa had suffered in their final moments. Her own mother had died of the plague, and it had been a cruel death, but at least it had not been murder.

“Catina was the last woman who fell in love with a Belmont,” her grandfather says. He looks so terribly sad. “I wouldn’t have the same thing happen to you. I couldn’t bear it, Sypha. I couldn’t bear losing you.”

Sypha takes a deep breath, trying to calm herself. “I know,” she says. She takes his hand again, trying to comfort him. “I’ll be careful. We’ll be careful. And Trevor would protect me with his life.”

Her grandfather wipes a tear from the corner of his eye. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“Don’t apologize. I know how deeply you care.” Sypha leans forward, tenderly wiping his other eye with her sleeve. “I have something for you, and I hope it helps to assuage your worries.”

Her grandfather watches as she pulls two scrolls from her travel-worn satchel. She unrolls one in front of him, and the other in front of her. “It’s a way for us to communicate,” she explains. “I got the idea from these incredible mirrors in Dracula’s castle and the Belmont library. I placed an enchantment on the scrolls. If you write on yours, the message will appear on my scroll, and vice versa. The messages disappear after a couple of days, so we’ll be able to continue reusing the scrolls.”

Mateo raises his eyebrows. “Amazing,” he says. “I’m… Well, I’m not surprised that you were able to do such a thing. I __am__ surprised that you’ve branched out from nature magics. Those were always your passion.”

“They still are, but necessity is the mother of invention. I needed a reliable way to stay in touch with you, and with Alucard. I left one of these scrolls with him as well.”

“This does make me feel better,” her grandfather admits. He rolls up the scroll and tucks it carefully into his own satchel, and he gives her a long look, as if trying to make up for lost time. “Will you and Trevor stay with us for a few days?”

Sypha shakes her head ruefully. “I wish we could,” she says. “I’m sorry. We’ll spend the night, and leave at sunrise.”

Mateo nods. “I understand. I’m glad you’ll share a meal with us, at least. I’m looking forward to getting to know Trevor a little better. From what you’ve told me, he seems very different from the man I met in Gresit.”

Sypha laughs. “Thankfully, yes.” She takes his hands again. “Thank you for understanding. And for your support. It means the world to me.”

“I love you, Sypha,” he says simply. “No matter where you go and what dangers you face, I always want you to carry that with you.”

“I love you too, Grandfather.”

* * *

 She and Trevor set out early the next morning, as she had said. The enchanted scroll is a small comfort, yes, but parting from her grandfather hurts as badly as it did in Gresit. Sypha keeps her composure for his sake, but on the road away from Timisoara, she can’t hold back her sniffles. In sharp contrast to his demeanor the last time she had bid farewell to the Speakers, Trevor silently puts his arm around her and holds her for a long while.

* * *

 The days and weeks pass, turning into months. They exterminate four shtriga across four towns spanning one hundred and twenty miles. It takes them a week and a half in Napoca to find and kill the skinwalker, which Sypha thinks is more horrifying even than vampires and the creatures of Dracula’s night hordes. Those demons are still out there, though their numbers are fewer than they were - both due to her and Trevor’s efforts over the months, as well as certain rituals Alucard has been working on to send them back to the evil realms from which they came.

And there are still vampires to contend with. So many vampires. Occasionally, Sypha thinks back to how naive she had been, in the days after Dracula was defeated and she had invited Trevor to journey with her. She had thought that fighting monsters would be an _adventure_.

It is true that she and Trevor both thrive on it. They both love the rush of adrenaline, the exhilaration, the thrill of being locked in battle, fighting for their lives, and prevailing due to their own skill. Even Trevor has come to share her appreciation for problem-solving - playing detective, as he calls it. They have spent hours upon hours in long discussions and debates about how to identify, outmaneuver, and kill their more elusive enemies like the skinwalker, or certain vampires, or the shtriga. Still, though, this is not adventure.It is work. Bloody, dangerous, never-ending, exhausting, work. It just happens to be work that they love.

Trevor approaches her one morning early in October. It had been the first truly chilly night of the season, and Sypha is still shivering a little as she tends to the horses. They had grazed early in the morning, but she feeds them each two apples anyway, which they gobble from her hands, eyes bright and tails flicking.

“You spoil them,” Trevor says as he comes up behind her. Though the clouds have dispersed somewhat, allowing weak rays from the rising sun to fall on them, it’s still cold enough that his breath fogs in the air.

Sypha pats Ginger, the chestnut, on the flank. “They work hard for us. They deserve it.”

“Those were our last apples, and we’re out of bread, cheese, butter, and all of our other fruit, too. What do you think about taking some time to restock our supplies?”

“That should be fine,” Sypha says, wiping her hands off on the horses’ blankets. “Zrenjanin is the closest town to here, right? And it’s still on the way to Novi Sad. We should be there in a few hours.”

“Actually,” Trevor says casually, leaning against Ginger, who snorts. “I think we should go to Nis.”

Sypha raises an eyebrow at him. “Nis? Isn’t that east of here? By a good twenty miles, I think. You must be confused.”

She moves back to the wagon, and Trevor falls into step with her. “Me? Confused? Never.”

“But why do you want to go to Nis? It’ll be almost evening by the time we reach there.”

“They have great markets in Nis,” Trevor says emphatically. “Excellent prices. And absolutely fantastic cheese.”

Sypha gives him a skeptical look. “You want us to travel hours out of our way…for cheese.”

“ _Fantastic_ cheese,” Trevor corrects. “And good bread, too.”

Sypha stops dead and pokes him in the chest. “What are you not telling me, Belmont?”

Trevor shifts from foot to foot, looking somewhat evasive. “Nothing! Where’s the trust in this partnership?”

“Evaporated with the morning dew, I think.”

“Very poetic,” Trevor teases. “You forget that I’m older and wiser than you, I’ve seen a lot of markets, and I have legitimate strong feelings about the best of them.”

“First of all, you are only three years older than me, hardly a venerated elder,” Sypha sniffs. “Secondly, I’ve seen you eat, and I don’t think you can even tell the difference between different types of breads and cheeses. Now, tell me why you have your heart set on Nis, or I’ll start singing my song to the horses.”

She had chosen the best possible threat. “Please don’t sing,” Trevor says hastily, and she smirks, pleased. He shoves his hands into his pockets and heaves a sigh. “Fine. You win. Nis is a big harvest town, and it’s the peak of the apple harvest season. That means cider.”

Sypha rolls her eyes. “Cider? Can’t you get that anywhere?”

“No, no,” Trevor says, waving the suggestion away as if it were completely ridiculous. “I have to drink the cider in Nis. The pub there serves the most amazing cider, Sypha.” He actually grips both of her shoulders, looking frighteningly impassioned about the topic. “It’s a dream come true. It’s heaven in a tankard. I go every year. Every year, five different varieties of apples, five different varieties of cider.”

Sypha tries to take a step back before he can start lecturing her on the nuances of different flavors. “You are a very strange man.”

Trevor holds onto her. “That may be true. But if we go to Nis today, I’ll owe you one.”

“I’m pretty sure you already owe me at least three or four.”

Trevor gives her his most charming smile. “Shall we add another to the list?”

Sypha feels her resolve weaken. “Fine,” she sighs. “We’ll go to Nis and you can drink your apple juice.”

The look Trevor gives her is so appalled that she dissolves into laughter.

* * *

They arrive at Nis late in the afternoon. They stable the horses at an inn a half mile outside town, as they usually do, and walk into town. It’s a small town, and as soon as they arrive, Sypha notices the amount of bustling activity in the streets around them. It is a little unusual for this time of day, when most are returning home to prepare the evening meal and spend time with their families. But today, there are so many people out. All of them are wearing red, yellow, orange, all the warm colors of the autumn leaves, chatting excitedly to one another, walking in large and small groups. Many of the women have little crowns of autumn leaves resting on their heads, or braided into their hair. Sypha smooths down the blue fabric of her Speaker’s cloak somewhat self-consciously. There are garlands on the homes that they pass, and lit candles, dyed yellow and orange, in the windows of every shop they walk past. She hears music in the air too, the faint sound of strings and harps and lutes. The sense of excitement around them is almost tangible.

“The pub isn’t too far from here,” Trevor says, almost salivating. “They serve this savory pie with apple and cheese too, I bet you’d like that. And they have chicken. They roast them with apples and sweet potatoes. It’s all crispy on the outside, and soft on the inside.”

“Supplies first. Though that pie does sound good,” Sypha admits, resting her hand on her stomach. She looks around at the decorated shopfronts, and at the stalls in the market. The vendors have baskets upon baskets piled high with apples, corn, beets, radishes, turnips, cranberries, pumpkins, squash…  

“Trevor?” she asks, something suddenly occurring to her. “Have we arrived on the day of the autumn harvest festival?”

“Yeah, I guess,” he says. “It’s happened to me a few years before, that I show up on the day of the festival. It’s a good deal for us. More than half off all food and drink at the pub.”

“It must be enjoyable.” Sypha smiles at a small group of children that go racing past, holding miniature toy scarecrows. “I’ve seen quite a few festivals around Wallachia with my Speaker caravan, but I haven’t been to an autumn harvest festival since I was fourteen.”

Trevor shrugs. “They do dancing and stuff in the town square. There’s archery, axe-throwing, hammer-throwing. They have bobbing for apples too, corn-husking races, and wheelbarrow races. I’ve competed in the martial stuff for prize money, but I’m not much for any of that other stuff. When I was seventeen, I I tried the wheelbarrow race with a couple of guys I met at the pub.”

“Oh, really? How did that end?”

“I broke two of my toes and got into a fight with the other team,” Trevor says sourly. “Stuck to the martial competitions and the pub after that. Every year, I earn my prize money and head straight into the pub and straight out.”

Sypha sighs. “You would.”

“Tell you what, though. I’ll show you around the rest of the festival after we’re done buying our supplies.” Trevor grins, and as always, she’s momentarily struck by how much younger and more carefree it makes him look. “Maybe I should give the wheelbarrow race another shot. It might go better with you pushing me.”

Sypha can’t help but giggle at the mental image. “Dream on, Belmont.”

They agree to split up for supplies and meet in front of the pumpkin stall in an hour. Sypha finishes her shopping for bread, cheese, salt, and butter in less than half that time. She leaves the market stalls behind, wandering to the other store-fronts. A bookstore catches her eye, and a garment store. She hesitates, and then impulsively enters the garment store.

Dresses for women are arranged on a splintering table near the front. They are cut simply, in plain fabric. Many of them have embroidery at the collar or sleeves, along the hem of the skirt or sleeves, or trailing up the skirt. It is the colors of the dresses that capture her attention. Several of them are harvest colors, red, orange, and yellow, to match the colors of the festival. Sypha brushes her fingers against them tentatively. She’s always worn blue. She loves blue. It reminds her of the sky, and rushing rivers and streams. But she’s never worn anything different, anything besides her blue cloak and tunic. She had never even wondered what it would be like to wear anything different until very recently.

“Can I help you?” The shopkeeper asks, emerging from the back of the store. She’s holding a bolt of fabric dyed a rich green.

Sypha opens her mouth, and the words _just looking_ are about to spill out, but she can’t quite do it. This would be an indulgence, a silly, ridiculous indulgence. Her money is better spent on food or books and other supplies.

But it would be nice to have one other thing to wear. There are places in Wallachia where Speakers cannot travel safely, and her current garb marks her as a Speaker to anyone who lays eyes on her. It wouldn’t just be __nice__ to have another thing to wear, in that case, it would be a smart thing to do.

“These are lovely,” Sypha finally manages, patting one of the dresses and feeling rather self-conscious. “I…I’m just looking.”

Maybe the shopkeeper had read something in her face, because she sets the bolt of green fabric down on another table and moves closer. “There are some others in the back like those,” she says. “They don’t have the embroidery, though, so they’re cheaper. Do you want me to bring them out for you to look over?”

Trevor or Alucard may have taken offense to her words, but Sypha smiles, making up her mind. “Yes, please. Thank you for your help.”

Sypha leaves the store half an hour later, two silver pieces less in her coin purse. She smooths the fabric of her new dress out, running her hands over the skirt, trying to get used to how it feels. The fabric is plain but comfortable, as is the fit. She’ll be able to run and fight in this, if necessary. The sleeves are fitted to her elbow and then flare out, and the square neckline isn’t low, so that she won’t feel awkward or exposed. Most importantly, the fabric is as red as a ripe apple. As she moves through the crowds, clutching her woven shopping basket with her old Speaker clothes folded and nestled inside, she notices that she fits right in with the other young women heading to the festival.

She sees Trevor in front of the pumpkin stall, holding a woven basket piled high with supplies. He’s surveying a collection of misshapen, monstrous-looking gourds, clearly fascinated. Sypha sidles up next to him, setting her basket at her feet. “That green bulbous one over there is quite strange,” she says cheerfully. “Doesn’t it remind you of that vicar from Sebes?”

Trevor almost jumps, and actually double-takes upon seeing her. “Sypha? Is that you?”

“The one and only, yes.” Sypha smooths her hands over her skirt again, trying not to blush at how he’s staring at her, trying not to wonder what he thinks of the change. “I thought it would be nice to have a different outfit. Something more discreet, one that doesn’t scream _enemy of God _.__ ”

“Good point.” Trevor glances down at the Belmont crest on his shirt. “Maybe I should join you next time.”

“You could get a matching tunic,” Sypha suggests. Now that she thinks of it, she’s never seen Trevor in anything but his typical outfit either, aside from a threadbare black tunic (more reminiscent of a potato sack with sleeves) that he sometimes wears to sleep in.

Trevor shudders. “I’d look like a tomato,” he says, and then glances at her out of the corner of his eye, looking somewhat panicked. “Not that you look like a tomato. You don’t look like a tomato at all. You look nice.”

Sypha sighs. “Thank you, Trevor.”

Trevor coughs and pats her on the shoulder. “You wanted to go see the festival?” he asks, before offering her his arm. “Let’s do this.”

They give the pumpkin vendor a few copper pieces to keep their baskets safe, stowed under the table and covered by the fall of the tablecloth, which he gladly accepts. She and Trevor follow the crowds of townspeople to the festival grounds, and Trevor shows her all that he had promised. There is bobbing for apples, frantic corn-husking races, surprisingly intense wheelbarrow races, archery and horseshoe and wrestling competitions, and even some axe and hammer throwing on the edges of the festival area. The two of them eagerly spectate a few wrestling and axe-throwing matches. Trevor enters into a wrestling match, an axe-throwing match, and a hammer-throwing match, and wins all three, earning three heavy bags of silver and gold pieces. To Sypha’s surprise, the mediator of the wrestling match gives Trevor a small wreath of sunflowers as well. He places it gently on her head, without a moment’s hesitation.

The dancing in the middle of the festival grounds catches her fancy after that, and Sypha leads her triumphant victor over to watch the dancers. “It’ll be a good break for you from flinging things around and straining yourself,” she says. “You can appreciate the finer things in life.”

“Ah, but I love flinging things around,” Trevor says wistfully. “I wish they had keg tossing here.”

Sypha leans against him, humming along to the music. It’s vibrant and energetic, all quick strings. People of all ages are dancing, from elderly couples to small children joining hands and skipping in circles, almost falling over themselves in laughter. There’s no formality to the dance; every pair and group seems to be following different steps, moving as the music inspires them. “Isn’t this lovely?” she asks happily. “Oh, look at that couple over there! That man just lifted his partner up and spun her around in the air.”

Trevor clears his throat, and when she looks over at him, he offers his hand to her. “Come on,” he says, somewhat apprehensively. “Let’s join them.”

Sypha stares at him. “Are you serious?”

He smiles at her, and the expression makes her melt, as it always does. “I said I owed you one, remember?”

Sypha beams, placing her hand in his. He pulls her out into the crowd and then stands somewhat awkwardly, placing one hand on her shoulder and one on her lower back, and glancing around them surreptitiously.

“Trevor?” she asks, peering up at him. “Are you all right? You look a little sick.”

“So, I don’t actually know how to dance,” he mutters, turning red. “It looked easier when we were standing on the sidelines.”

Sypha laughs, taking his hand and interlacing their fingers together. “That’s fine. I’ll lead us. As usual.”

“Just for the record, I resent that.”  

Trevor is a fast learner, though, and by their third dance, he takes the lead. His competitive instinct comes out, as well. He stares at the other couples around them with narrowed eyes, studying their moves with such intensity that a few young men scowl at him and their dance partners edge away.

“You’re scaring the good people of Nis,” Sypha comments, as he whirls her around. “Be careful. They might ban you from the pub.”

“Unlikely. They’re just intimidated by our skill.” He startles her, placing both hands on her waist and picking her up off the ground with seemingly no effort; the same move that had so impressed her earlier.

“Trevor! That was amazing.”

Trevor grins at her, clearly satisfied by the praise. Now that she thinks about it, it’s actually not that surprising. He excels at all things athletic, so why should dancing be the exception? “You always underestimate me, Sypha. Maybe one day…” he pauses, looking thoughtful. “You will estimate me?”

Sypha giggles. “Stick to the dancing, my dear.”

The endearment had slipped out completely without her realizing it, and she blinks, mortified. Thankfully, Trevor hadn’t seemed to notice at all; he’s too wrapped up in leading them through a series of complicated steps.

They dance for a long time, until they’re both breathless and Sypha’s feet hurt a little. At a brief break in the music, she releases his hand, ignoring the small pang of regret she feels. “I’m starving,” she says. “Shall we go to your pub?”

Trevor’s eyes gleam in anticipation as they leave the dancing grounds. “Of course. _My_ pub...I like the sound of that. Maybe after we retire from the business of vanquishing evil, we can open a pub.”

“We? I want nothing to do with this. You can open a pub with Alucard, and I will be the owner of a reputable school of magic.” Sypha looks up at him. “Thank you for dancing with me.”

“Anytime.” Trevor scratches his chin contemplatively. “It was fun, actually. Maybe we should find a dance competition to enter at the next festival we hear of.”

They bicker lightly about whether or not everything has to be a competition until they reach the pub. It’s small and dimly lit, and so crowded and loud that Sypha immediately feels overwhelmed. Trevor is completely unfazed, though, and finds them a spot at the bar. The bench is packed so tightly that she doesn’t think there will be space for them, but Trevor sits down at the end anyway, shoving the man next to him a bit and returning his glare with one of his own.

“I’m sure we can find a table instead,” Sypha says, looking around apprehensively.

Trevor shakes his head. “Service will be faster up here. It’s fine, look.”

He clears a little bit more space, earning another dirty look from the man on the other side of him, and gestures for her to sit down. It’s so close that she’s practically on his lap, and Sypha tries not to feel flustered, but he doesn’t seem to mind.

“One flight of cider and one roast chicken with apples and sweet potatoes,” Trevor tells the harried-looking server when he comes around to them, juggling three plates of food.

Sypha smiles at him. “I’ll have a cheese and apple pie, please, and one mug of water, and one glass of mulled wine.”

Their drinks and food come out surprisingly fast. The chicken and the pie both look leagues better than any food that they normally find at inns and taverns, and Trevor practically salivates at the sight of the five tall glasses before him. All of them are filled with cider ranging from golden to pink in color. “Well, they are pretty,” Sypha observes, digging her spoon into her pie.

“They’re beautiful,” Trevor says, looking rather emotional. “Here, try some of each before I start them.”

“Oh, I don’t--”

“I can’t not share with you. Start with that one on the far right, it’s a bit milder, and work your way left.”

It is much more enjoyable than beer, thanks to the apple flavor, though it’s still strong for her taste. Her throat is burning and her eyes watering by the last sip. Trevor is watching her, clearly anxious for her reaction, and Sypha points to the two on the right. “Those are the best. I could drink one of those. Slowly.”

“Ah, from the Crimson Crisp and the Winesap,” Trevor observes, looking delighted. “Do you want me to get one for you? The server’s just down the bar.”

“No, thank you. All I want is more of this incredible pie. Here, have a piece. The crust is fantastic.”

“If you think that’s good, wait until you have the chicken. I’ll give you a leg now, hold on.”

They end up eating half of each other’s meals, working their way through the entire pie and the chicken, chatting leisurely, Trevor giving her a sip of his cider every now and then. The pub is nice and warm, and after a while, the noise and crowd doesn’t bother her much anymore. Sypha has a bit of pie and listens to Trevor’s rebuttal to her argument about why The Townley Plays are actually a good piece of roadside theater after all.

They are sitting in an unfamiliar town she has never been in before, and one that they will leave by dawn the next morning. And yet she feels so comfortable, totally at ease and at home, sitting here with Trevor at her side.

She had always understood why people sought out romantic relationships; for companionship and partnership. But she had never felt the need. She was happy and complete on her own, fulfilled in her work as a Speaker and her studies of magic. And she still is. It’s just that Trevor being around, being able to share every meal and every observation about the world and every challenge and triumph with her best friend, is even better. It fulfills her and makes her happy in a very different way.

There are times when she feels like she could burst with frustration over how badly she wants to kiss Trevor, to hold his hand, to do other things besides kiss him and hold his hand. But most times, like this, she is perfectly content. Just being with him is enough.

“Sypha?” Trevor asks, waving a chicken bone in front of her to get her attention. “Are you even listening? I said that even a ten-year-old could see the plot twist in the main mystery coming a mile away, and you’re just going to let that slip?”

“That is such a ludicrous assertion that I just ignored it.” Sypha brandishes her spoon at him in return for the chicken bone maneuver. “You are the only person I have ever talked to, of any age, who believes this. But what is more offensive is your belief that Gyb is a funny character. Gyb is _the worst_ and here is why…”

They argue until Trevor has drained his last glass of cider, and Sypha has to convince him that no, another flight of five large glasses tonight is probably not a good idea. She asks the pub owner to fill two large wineskins for the road instead. He acquiesces, and Trevor is so overcome with gratitude he looks like he’s close to weeping, and tells her that she is the most perfect person in the world.

He’s a bit unsteady on his feet, and immediately puts an arm around her shoulder for support as they make their way out of the pub. It’s late enough that the crowds outside have subsided. When they reach the market, they find that the pumpkin vendor has abandoned his stall, but considerately left the tablecloth on the table, concealing their baskets from view. Trevor picks up his basket and wanders off while Sypha retrieves hers.

He comes back with a large red apple in his hand, clearly proud of the acquisition. Sypha eyes him suspiciously. “Where did you get that?”

“Someone left it on a table, I guess. Perfectly legal.” Trevor shrugs and offers it to her. “We’re at the autumn harvest festival, and we haven’t had any apples.”

“A travesty.” Sypha takes the apple. The feel of it in the palm of her hand triggers a memory. “Remember when we accidentally trespassed onto that apple orchard?”

Trevor grins, slinging his arm around her shoulder again, and she almost staggers under the weight. He isn’t _light _,__ that’s for sure. “Oh, I remember.”

She had been stuffed by dinner, but she can’t resist the temptation, taking a bite of the apple. “It’s a good one,” she says. “Sweet and tart at the same time. Here.”

Sypha passes him the apple. She had expected that he would bite off the other side, but instead he bites just where she had. _A kiss by proxy_ , she can’t help thinking, and she tries not to blush.

“Perfect,” Trevor says, his mouth full.

“Yes,” Sypha agrees. “Just like tonight.”

She expects a typical smart remark from him, something like _you’re welcome_ or _I was the one who insisted we come here_ , but Trevor just smiles, passing the apple back to her. “Just like tonight.”

Sypha is mid-bite of the apple when he speaks, sounding rather smug. “Of course, I deserve full credit for insisting that we come here. Maybe next time when I suggest we go somewhere, you’ll be more trusting.”

Sypha elbows him in the ribs.

-

_to be continued_

-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everybody who left comments on the previous chapter. :) I love reading your thoughts!


	3. Part Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trevor and Sypha celebrate Christmas with Alucard.

The leaves change color and fall from the trees, the days grow shorter, the weather becomes colder, and they begin the journey back to Alucard’s castle. They are traveling from the north, and there are fewer inns on their way. They spend most nights camped under the stars, huddled between their wagon and a fire.

Trevor had made dinner tonight, a decent stew of rabbit, carrots, and wild mushrooms. He had even pulled out a small, squashed lemon cake he had bought when they had passed through Gyor two nights ago for dessert. Sypha munches on her slice absentmindedly, bent over her project.

“There’s one more piece left,” Trevor says, as he returns from checking on their store of rations in the back of the wagon. “Want it?”

“You go ahead,” Sypha says. She glances up, distracted. “I’m still working on this part of the spell, anyway.”

Trevor comes to sit next to her, holding his slice of cake. He glances at the long scroll, covered in her meticulous notes. “How’s it coming?”

“Reasonably well.” Sypha taps the scroll. “There is just one part that concerns me. I don’t want the castle and the library to become __permanently__  impenetrable. I want us to be able to unlock the library, especially, if we need to in the future. I’m concerned that this locking ward that I’ve used here will be too strong.”

Trevor squints at her writing, and then turns his head to the side, as if that will make things clearer. “Huh,” he says. “…Anything I can do to help?”

“Not unless you can make it warmer, or transport us to an inn with a lamp, a table, and a proper chair to sit on.” Sypha straightens and rolls her shoulders, wincing. “My back is killing me.”

“I’ll leave the magic to you, but I might be able to help with that last thing.”

Trevor puts his cake down, and Sypha looks at him curiously. She’s never known him to set down food. As a matter of fact, he eats during stakeouts and there have been numerous times where she’s caught him pulling strips of dried meat from the pocket of his cloak and eating it during brief lulls in combat. (“It’s for recovery, Sypha!”)

“What are you doing?” she asks.

He puts his hands on her shoulders, squeezing both of them right at the spot where her neck meets her shoulders. It feels so good that she drops her head to her chest, letting out an involuntary sigh. “Back pain is the worst,” he says. “When I was sixteen, I fucked up my back while doing work on a farm. I slept in the barn that night, and I spent ages trying to get these little piglets to walk over my back as a kind of massage.”

Sypha closes her eyes, trying to focus on Trevor’s words, and not how strong his hands are. “Did they?”

Trevor sighs. “They did not. Their mom came and sat on me. Great end to the day.”

She wants to keep talking to him to divert herself, but she’s distracted by the odd crunching sounds the muscles in her shoulders and shoulder blades are making as he kneads his fingers and palms against her. Trevor seems to notice it too. “Wow, your shoulders are fucked,” he says, in his usual succinct way. Without further ado, he pulls her around until her back is facing him and then digs in, applying more pressure.

“Ouch!” Sypha yelps. “What are you trying to do, kill me?”

“Sorry,” he says, and eases up just a little. “It’ll get worse before it gets better. Just hang in there.”

Sypha closes her eyes and takes deep breaths, trying to __hang in there__. To her surprise, Trevor is right, and after a while, she feels the awful tightness in her shoulders start to loosen its grip. She makes a soft sound of relief, relaxing against him. For the first time all day, she feels truly warmed, with the fire in front of her and Trevor behind her. “Oh, this feels so good,” she says, tilting her head to the side. “I needed this. A little bit lower?”

He obliges at once, pressing his thumbs against a knot in the middle of her shoulder blade, and she sighs again. “That’s perfect. Oh, Trevor, that feels amazing.”

Sypha can’t see him, but she hears the smirk in his voice. “You know,” he replies, “I could get used to you saying nice things like this to me more often.”

Sypha arches her back, and she can’t help but think that this would feel even better if he didn’t have to touch her through her thick robe. “I’ll say all the nice things you want, if you __be__  nice to me more often,” she returns. “You’re very good with your hands, when you use them for more than fighting, eating, and holding pitchers of beer.”

Trevor murmurs something under his breath that she can’t quite catch, and she glances over her shoulder. “What?”

“Nothing,” he says hastily. He looks somewhat red, or maybe it’s just the firelight. He moves his hands to work on the base of her neck, effectively distracting her.

They fall into a comfortable silence. It isn’t long before Sypha starts to feel drowsy, lulled by the warmth of the fire and his touch. She nestles against him, unable to hold back a happy hum. The last thing she is conscious of before drifting off to sleep is Trevor slowly, gently caressing her upper arms, as if trying to warm her up.

When Sypha wakes at dawn, they’re stretched out by the ashes of the fire. Trevor had thrown half of his cloak around her. His face is buried in the ragged fur collar, and he’s snoring loudly - undoubtedly what had woken her. She just watches him for a little while, uncertainly, and tries to figure out whether that last memory of the night had only happened in her dreams.

* * *

They reach Alucard’s castle late in the afternoon on Christmas Eve. The doors have been thrown open, awaiting their arrival, and Sypha’s spirits lift as she and Trevor climb up the stone steps and into the entry hall. The last time they had been here, Alucard had cleaned up the massive entrance hall, and all evidence of his fight with his father and the battle with the vampire generals had been eliminated. That was it. But this time, there is a warmth to the entry hall that she has never seen here before. Torches blaze in their holders, filling the space with light, and she is thrilled to see fresh garlands of pine and holly draped along the banisters of the grand staircase. There are a few pine wreaths hung up as well. The air smells of balsam and cedar and frankincense

Trevor stares around, astonished. “What is all this?”

“Like it?”

Sypha looks up, and she smiles when she sees Alucard, leaning on the second-story railing and looking down at them. “It’s beautiful!” she calls.

Alucard ignores the stairs in favor of hopping down, as agile as a cat. “My mother used to decorate,” he explains, before hugging Sypha and patting Trevor on the shoulder. “It just felt like the right thing to do, especially since you both were coming back for Christmas.”

Trevor is still looking around, a strange expression on his face. “My mother did, too. It’s…” He shakes his head, as if shaking away memories. “It looks nice.”

“The cook said that dinner should be ready in an hour,” Alucard says, before nodding towards the sitting room. “There’s some food and drink in there, so you don’t go crazy and run off into the woods for venison. You know where your rooms are, if you want to freshen up before dinner.”

“An hour? I might not make it.” Trevor pulls a face. “I hope you have beer.”

“We’re having wine tonight, you degenerate. It’s Christmas.”

“And don’t complain, an hour will be fine.” Sypha takes Trevor’s arm in one of hers, and Alucard’s in the other. “That gives us plenty of time to exchange gifts before dinner.”

The sitting room is decorated much as the entrance hall had been. A large fire roars in the hearth, and a tray of nuts, peeled, spiced oranges, cheese, and bread sits on the table, beside two large bottles of wine. It looks so cozy, in a way that Sypha would have never imagined was possible the first time she saw Dracula’s castle. Trevor sticks an entire orange into his mouth as they all settle in, taking seats right in front of the fire instead of in the armchairs, and Alucard pours them each a glass of wine.

It has been easier to stay in touch this time, thanks to the enchanted scrolls, but they have reserved that mostly for short messages, check-ins, and trading insults between Trevor and Alucard. The three of them talk through one and a half bottles of wine before Sypha remembers the presents.

“Can we settle this later?” she exclaims, interrupting Trevor and Alucard’s heated discussion. “We have gifts to give!”

“Yes, very true,” Trevor says hastily, probably because he was losing the debate about which is the superior type of holiday pie.

“I have something for both of you as well.” Alucard rises from his spot on the floor and walks over to the table on the far side of the room. He retrieves a small wooden box and a book, before making his way back to them. He hands the book to Sypha, and then the box to Trevor.

Trevor takes the box, looking bemused. Sypha examines the ancient-looking book, fascinated. “The Book of Amulets, Third Century,” she says, running her finger down the spine. “This is incredible. I’ve never seen a third-century grimoire in person before. It’s remarkably well-preserved!”

“That’s not a Belmont library book,” Trevor says, setting his box aside. “It’s older than anything in our collections.”

“I found it in one of my father’s libraries,” Alucard says. “I thought you would like it, Sypha.”

Sypha smiles at both of them. “If I wasn’t so fond of you two, I would skip dinner to start studying it. Thank you, Alucard!”

“Of course Sypha gets the easily identifiable gift,” Trevor grouses. “What’s in the box, Alucard? Am I going to open this and have some kind of little hell goblin launch out and bite me on the nose?”

“Not this year,” Alucard replies. “I’m saving that for next year. I think you’ll like this year’s gift quite a bit better.”

Trevor opens the box. He frowns down at its contents for a second, and then the confusion on his face is replaced with wonder. He pulls out a tarnished bronze pocketwatch from the box, and then a worn lace handkerchief, a golden eagle-feather quill, a small roll of parchment covered in writing in an unfamiliar hand. “Oh, my God,” he says examining each carefully. “I recognize these. Are these…”

“Things I found in the library, yes,” Alucard says. “They were scattered around. I found them in reading nooks, and amongst the shelves.” He shrugs self-consciously. “I thought you would want to have them.”

“This quill,” Trevor says, showing Sypha the quill. “This was my mother’s. I remember she’d use it when she helped me with my lessons. The pocketwatch was my dad’s; he was always losing it. And - and this writing in the note here, I’m not completely sure, but I think this was my grandfather. My dad used to write his I’s and J’s in the same way, see?”

He looks as excited as a child on Christmas Day, and Sypha can’t look away, it is so beautiful to see him like this. Trevor pores over the writing on the parchment, before inspecting the handkerchief closely. His joy at having those keepsakes - the only keepsakes of his long-lost family - returned to him is palpable. She smiles at Alucard gratefully, and he nods at her.

Finally, Trevor sets the box aside, though he slips the watch into one of the pockets of his cloak. “Thank you,” he says, somewhat awkwardly, looking at Alucard. “This means…it means a lot to me.”

“It was nothing,” Alucard says, with a small smile. “If I ever find anything else, I’ll set it aside for you.”

Sypha glances at Trevor, hardly able to contain her excitement, and she taps her fingers on the cover of her satchel. “We have something for you too.”

“Oh, you didn’t have to,” Alucard says, looking somewhat taken aback. “The fact that both of you are here is enough.”

“That’s what I said.” Trevor peels another orange, and offers her a slice. “But she insisted.”

Sypha leans forward and takes it with her mouth, not wanting to get juice on her hands, and pulls out the scroll of parchment from her satchel. She had rolled it up carefully and bound it with a length of golden ribbon that Trevor, of all people, had spotted at a holiday market.

“This is for you, from us,” she says, handing the scroll to Alucard.

He unwraps the ribbon and eases the scroll open, and stares down at it thoughtfully for a moment before recognition flickers across his face. “Is this…?”

“A locking enchantment,” Sypha explains. “There are two layers to it. First, it will veil this entire castle in an illusion. To any outsider, human or vampire or demon, it will look like nothing more than a desolate old ruin. Second, it will lock the doors to every library and every laboratory. It’s a failsafe - even if somebody manages to see through the illusion and find the entrance to the castle, they won’t be able to enter any of the other rooms in it.”

“This is incredible,” Alucard says, studying the spell. “Even my father couldn’t figure out a way to completely hide the castle. Sypha, you’re a genius.”

“She’s been working on it for ages,” Trevor adds. “And it definitely works, too. She tested it on this abandoned mansion in Gyor.”

Sypha nods. “It’s fully reversible, as well. We tested that in Gyor. So whenever we need to come back here, we will be able to unlock the Belmont library and whatever other resources we need.” She smiles. “You won’t have to stay here alone to guard this place anymore.”

Alucard sets the scroll down, apparently at a loss for words. He smiles, but his eyes are so sad. “It means a lot to me that you would do this. Thank you.”

“That’s what friends are for! Right, Trevor?”

“Right,” he says, clearly refraining from the urge to make a sarcastic comment.

Alucard looks at both of them in turn. “I feel badly for saying this, knowing the lengths you went to in order to do this for me,” he begins, and trails off for a moment. “But I don’t think I’m ready to leave, yet.”

Sypha blinks, taken aback, and Trevor pauses mid-sip of wine. “What?”

“It’s not that I don’t want to join you,” Alucard hastens to add. He reaches over and touches Sypha’s hand reassuringly. “I do. It’s just that…” He sighs. “After you two left last time, I started to go through my mother’s journals and workbooks. I had never taken that much of an interest in the details of her medical work before, but reading her notes, her theories, her findings, the details of her experiments, all written in her own hand… It made me feel close to her. Like she was still here with me. Does that make sense?”

“It does,” Sypha says softly, and Trevor nods.

Alucard gestures, looking a bit more animated. “She was working on formulating some kind of inoculation for influenza, and for diptheria. She had this serum that would numb a woman’s pain during childbirth. And she had entire books’ worth of notes about possible treatments for leprosy, smallpox, yellow fever, and even the black plague.”

“That is amazing. I wish my parents had met her ten years ago.” Sypha looks down at the rug beneath them, and despite the warmth of the room, she draws her cloak tighter around her. It is so hard to think of her parents, and Trevor’s, and Lisa Tepes, all good, kind people, taken long before their time. Her parents, Trevor’s, and Alucard’s mother would have only been in their forties now, if they had lived. They had so much life in them, so much left to do.

Trevor rests a hand on her shoulder, surprising her. He doesn’t say anything, but he gives her a look of quiet understanding, and Sypha leans against him gratefully.

“I do, too,” Alucard says. He looks down at his hands. “I know I don’t have the natural talent that she did, and I’m starting medical studies late, compared to her. But I want to continue her work, carry on her legacy. I want to do everything that she would have, if the Church hadn’t taken her from us.”

“I think that’s beautiful,” Sypha says. “It’s a wonderful thing to do in her memory.”

“I would have never imagined you as a doctor, but it makes sense, when you explain it like that,” Trevor says. “Every time I kill some hideous monster or another, I think that my parents would be proud of me.”

Alucard exhales slightly, and his relief is evident. “Thank you for understanding.”

“Of course! And Trevor and I will help you spread your knowledge in our travels.”

“Can we use your locking spell on every church we come across instead, Sypha?” Trevor asks, tapping his chin thoughtfully. “I think that would be fun.”

Sypha giggles, sliding the scroll back into her satchel. “Don’t tempt me.”

“Seriously, though. It can be your Christmas present to me.”

“I already have a Christmas present for you.” Sypha extends her hand to him. “Give me your cloak.”

Trevor shrugs it off, nonplussed, and hands it to her, while Alucard looks on curiously. Sypha spreads the long, heavy cloak out over her lap, and runs a hand over the worn material. When she breathes in, it smells of dust, Trevor’s hair, and faintly, of the cheap olive oil soap he uses. A comforting scent, and familiar.

She directs all of her focus to the cloak, and recites the incantations she had memorized weeks ago. Her hands glow with pale light, and the light flares, before subsiding. The cloak lies in her lap, apparently unchanged, and Sypha hands it back to Trevor with a smile. “Here you go.”

“Thanks?” he says, patting it gingerly, as if expecting something to happen.

“You enchanted it,” Alucard comments. “Please tell me that when he puts it on, he’ll be transformed into a goat.”

Sypha laughs. “Not quite. But you’ll find that it is truly weatherproof now. It will repel rain and snow, dirt and mud, and the wind should never bite through it again, no matter how cold it gets. Oh, and also, it will always smell of lemons, even if you roll around in manure.”

“This is probably going to save my life one day.” Trevor pats the cloak with renewed appreciation, and then looks at her. “Thank you, Sypha. You’ll always have a spot under it.”

Alucard sniffs. “I’m just glad you did something about the smell.”

“Fuck you too, asshole.” Trevor rummages in the numerous pockets of the cloak, before withdrawing a small box, clumsily wrapped in parchment and tied with blue ribbon. He holds it out to her, looking somewhat flustered. “It’s just a little thing. For you. I hope you like it.”

Sypha takes it, touched. He must have bought it while she was visiting one of the public bath houses in the towns they passed through, because she doesn’t remember seeing him buy this.

“Hey, Belmont, did you pay a toddler to wrap that for you? And get the poor kid drunk before he wrapped it?”

“I think it’s very nice,” Sypha says loyally, while Trevor glares daggers at Alucard. She undoes the ribbon and sticks it into her new book to use as a bookmark, and then pulls the parchment wrapping aside. The box is dark wood, the lid covered in engravings, surprisingly elegant. She tilts her head to the side curiously and flips the lid open.

There is a slender hairpin resting inside, silver and set with three tiny sapphires. The little gems flicker in the firelight, and Sypha stares, astonished, before looking over at Trevor. “This is gorgeous!”

“Your hair flops into your face when you get all hunched over a book or a scroll,” he says, by way of explanation, and lifts his hand to his own hair. “Like this. Flop. So I thought…a pin would be good…and you could put it in your hair to keep it from flopping.”

(Alucard rolls his eyes.)

“It’s got blue in it, to match your cloak,” Trevor says, thankfully having not noticed Alucard.  

“It’s the most beautiful thing I have ever owned.” Sypha holds the pin close and beams at him. He looks even more flustered now. “Thank you so much.”

She rises and makes her way to the large, ornate mirror hung on the opposite wall. It’s been nearly a year since she has cut her hair, she realizes. It’s grown out, curling more than halfway down her neck, almost touching her shoulders. No wonder it has been flopping into her face of late. Sypha places the pin carefully and takes a moment to turn her head to the side, considering the effect of her longer hair and the hairpin. It’s so rare that she sees her reflection anywhere besides the cloudy, small mirrors in public bathhouses.

“How do I look?” she asks, turning back to them.

“Nice,” Trevor says, somewhat weakly.

Alucard rolls his eyes at Trevor again, and then gives her an encouraging look. “You look beautiful, Sypha.”

They hear the faint sound of a bell from the other room, then, and Alucard stands. “That must be dinner. Try not to break anything running over to the dining room, Belmont.”

Trevor stands slowly, obviously just trying to be contrary, and makes a sardonic gesture to the door. “After you.”

Alucard leads them out, and Trevor waits, falling into step beside her. “Thank you, again,” Sypha says. “This is lovely.”

She expects him to take her arm, as they often do, but he places a hand on the small of her back and hesitates, as if trying to figure out what to say. “You deserve it.”

* * *

 

Christmas and New Year are wonderful. It is more of a real vacation than their last stay here. Instead of huddling in the library doing research, they lounge in the sitting room, spending hours talking or playing the Philosopher’s Game, alquerques, and fox and geese - all different strategy and number games that the three of them have encountered at some point or another. Trevor teaches them a three-player variant of chess that his parents had been fond of. Those games take a few hours at least, and often end with Trevor and Alucard swearing at each other and threatening violence.

On the eve of the New Year, they stay up until midnight. The cook makes trays upon trays of different sweets for dessert. She delivers the sweets and pitchers of spiced wine and warm cider to the parlor upstairs, a large, comfortably furnished room with floor-to-ceiling windows. Sypha settles down in the middle of the plush sofa with a cup of cider and watches the snow falling outside. After Trevor and Alucard finish their game of Ard Ri, Trevor joins her, while Alucard goes downstairs to retrieve another Celtic board game he had been telling them about over dinner

“You’ve been quiet tonight,” Trevor observes, offering her a ginger biscuit. “Everything okay?”

“Just thinking about everything that’s happened this year,” Sypha says, looking at him. “This time last year, I was sitting around a fire with my Speaker caravan, as we got ready to head to Gresit. So much has happened. So much has changed.”

Trevor runs his fingers through his hair contemplatively. “I don’t even remember what I was doing at this time last year. Getting drunk in some tavern, most likely.” He pauses. “…I think it’s safe to say that this past year has been the best year of my life.”

“Even with all the horrible trouble that we’ve gotten into?” Sypha asks, nudging him playfully. “Even though you’ve almost died about a hundred times?”

Trevor smiles. “I’ve almost died maybe ten times, at most. But yes. Even with all that. This past year, being with you…” He trails off, obviously searching for the right words. “It’s been great. You helped me find a purpose again, Sypha.”

“And you helped me find mine.” Sypha smiles, raising her glass. “To the future endeavors of Belnades and Belmont?”

Trevor clinks his glass to hers lightly. “Yes,” he says. “To our future.”

His fingers brush hers, and she tries not to blush or read too deeply into his choice of words.  

-

_to be continued_

-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everybody who has left comments so far. It absolutely makes my day. I love reading your thoughts!


	4. Part Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sypha is captured by agents of the Church.

Sypha gets arrested by agents of the Church in mid-February, in Satu Mare.

It all happens so quickly. She and Trevor had arrived there just a day previously, on the trail of a pricolici, a half-vampire, half-werewolf beast. They have been tracking it for two weeks. The creature had always remained just a step or two ahead of them, leaving a trail of victims in its wake. This time, Sypha vowed, as they made their way into the city, they would get it.

They had split up for a short time to search for evidence. They don’t usually split up, but Satu Mare is a big place and they hadn’t wanted to waste entire days tracking down evidence. Trevor had headed to the Closca district, and she had volunteered to take the Crisan district.

Sypha has just left the butcher’s shop in the Crisan district and turned into the side alley when she has the distinct, unmistakable sensation that she is being followed. She takes a deep breath, calming herself, and then turns around. She isn’t unduly worried. The enemies that she faces walk during the night, not the day.

But then she sees that the two men in front of her are wearing the robes of the Church, and her shoulders tense up. “Good afternoon,” she says, forcing herself to nod courteously, the picture of innocence. “May I help you?”

“Your kind isn’t allowed here,” the man on the right says coldly.

“I wasn’t aware, my apologies.” Sypha clasps her hands in front of her and bows her head, though it kills her to fake subservience to these men. “I will leave immediately and continue on my journey.” She’ll camp out in the forest for a few hours, and then change her blue Speaker’s robe in favor of her red dress, wrap her hair in a scarf, and then go find Trevor.

“We’ll escort you out.”

It isn’t ideal, and Sypha grits her teeth, but she makes a show of polite acquiescence, falling into step beside them. They flank her on either side, standing much too close. As they pass the butcher’s shop, Sypha looks in and sees him standing with his wife. They both stare as she passes.

The people in town give them a wide berth, and Sypha breathes a soft sigh of relief as they approach the city gates. “Again, I apologize,” she says, moving toward the gates. “I certainly did not mean to give offense, and I will not come here again.”

One of the men grabs her arm, hard. “Keep walking,” he says.

 _This is not good,_  Sypha realizes, feeling rather detached. She could repel both of them with her magic, but they are surrounded by people, and there would be mass panic. She knows no spells that will allow her to simply vanish after dealing with these priests, if that is what they are. The townspeople will see her as a witch, and she won’t be able to flee a mob on her own, on foot. She can still act, and she must act, but she has to wait until there are fewer witnesses.

The priests lead her to the church in the center of town, a towering, imposing stone building with massive stained glass windows. She stops dead on instinct, but they twist her arms, forcing her up the stairs, and slam the heavy metal double doors shut behind them. It is dark and cool inside the church, and deserted, save for three other men in priests’ robes, wearing heavy crucifixes around their neck. One of them looks to be a bishop, if the thing on his head and the staff he carries serves as any indication.

“So Anatolie saw correctly,” the bishop says slowly, looking her up and down as if she were some kind of insect. “A Speaker.”

Sypha opens her mouth to speak, but he cuts her off. “Your kind never travels alone. Where is your caravan?”

“Fifteen miles from here, near the fork in the river,” Sypha says. “I volunteered to come ahead, to see if the people of Satu Mare needed us in any capacity. I have learned that we are not welcome here. I would return to my caravan and pass on the message, so we can continue our journey.”

The bishop sneers. “So you can go on to plague another God-fearing town, you mean.”

“I--”

“Silence, witch.” He glares at her. “Lock her up, and send out a scouting party. We’ll be doing a disservice to God if we allow their kind to roam freely in this county.”

Sypha spares just a moment to consider which of her magics she could use that will not kill them, just neutralize them for long enough for her to escape.

And then the cudgel crashes into her back, sending her stumbling forward, driving the breath from her body. She’s hit again, even harder this time, from the side. She falls to her knees, and one of the priests grabs her roughly by the hair, yanking her head back, exposing her neck. There’s a foul-smelling rag pressed to her nose and mouth, and then everything goes black.

* * *

When she regains consciousness, she finds herself in a small, pitch black cell. It’s chilly and damp - probably underground. Underneath the church. She’s penned in like an animal, tightly packed dirt walls around her, and metal bars in front of her.

Sypha touches the bars, wrapping her fingers around them. _Think,_ she tells herself firmly. Maybe it is a side effect of the sedative, disturbing her normal composure, but she is fighting the urge to cry. They would have held Lisa Tepes like this, and Catina Belmont. Undoubtedly the same fate awaits her.

Sypha hardens her resolve. _No,_ she thinks, clutching the bars tighter. She is going to get out of here. She will live a long life, and the Church will never claim her as a victim.

She has no idea how long she’s been unconscious. It could have been one hour, or several, and she thinks of Trevor, waiting outside their agreed-upon meetup spot. The flower stall in the town square, an hour before sunset.

There is no fire in here that she can work with. She could draw moisture, water, out from the dirt walls and dirt floor and turn it into ice, but ice won’t cut through metal.

Sypha stares at the bars and then closes her eyes, lost in thought for several minutes, before it comes to her. Her eyes snap open. “That’s it,” she says aloud.

Metal is just earth that has been purified and refined. She can use her elemental magic to help her grasp whatever trace elements of un-purified, crude earth still present in the metal, target it, and use that to mold the purified metal to her will.

She marshals every bit of focus she has, and begins to work.

It is a terrible strain, even worse than moving Dracula’s castle had been. Her joints and muscles tremble and ache under the force of it, and her eyes fill with tears. Her head starts to hurt, a splitting, blinding pain. But then she starts to feel it, a malleability in the metal. It grows soft, fluid, as easily moved as regular earth.

She moves her hands in several patterns, grateful that they hadn’t bound her wrists, and finally, the bars twist and warp enough for someone to squeeze through.

Sypha stumbles out, trying to make as little noise as possible. She steadies herself with a hand against the dirt wall and bends over, fighting for breath. It’s difficult to breathe, and she’s seeing stars. She has no idea where she is, and how to get out.

 _Up_ , she thinks. _I have to get up and out._

Straightening is an effort. She steels herself again, fighting the fog of fatigue that has settled over her mind. She has to focus. There has to be some sign of how to get out of here.

Sypha frowns. She hears something. Like shattering. And, more distantly, footsteps.

It’s above her, to the right. Sypha follows the corridor, trying to keep up a steady pace. It is still so dark. The corridor seems to stretch on for an eternity, and there are so many more cells, empty, that she passes. These people are monsters. Preaching about God and love and forgiveness upstairs, and holding people to torment and kill down here on some trumped-up charges or another.

She finally finds a narrow staircase. The noise grows louder as she climbs - crashes, bangs, more shattering, shouting. She has a vague suspicion of what is responsible.

The wooden door at the top of the staircase is locked. Sypha throws all her weight against it, desperate to force it open without using her magic. It is to no avail, and she is forced to bend the metal to her will again, shattering the lock.

She staggers out into the hallway, her eyes struggling to adjust to the dim light from the torches. It’s quieter now, an eerie hush in the air.

“Sypha?”

Sypha thinks that she imagined it, at first, but then she hears it again, louder, and desperate. _“S_ _ypha_?"

“Here,” she tries to call back, but her voice is too weak; it breaks in her throat. She follows the voice doggedly.

She turns a corner, and crashes right into Trevor. He had been running, and the impact knocks her to her knees. He’s breathing hard, spattered with blood, sleeves torn.

“Well, Trevor,” Sypha manages, and she thinks she’s never been so happy to see anyone in her life. “You really know how to knock a lady off her feet.”

“Oh, my God,” he says hoarsely, and he lifts her to her feet and crushes her in an embrace. “You’re alive. You’re really alive.”

The pressure hurts her bruised back, but it feels so good to be close to him. She buries her face in his shoulder and clings to him tightly. “I don’t die so easily, Belmont.”

Trevor finally lets go of her, and Sypha sees his reddened eyes, the dark circles under them. He pats her down, running his hands over her shoulders and ribs and back, tilting her face up to his and inspecting it. “Are you alright? Did they hurt you?”

Sypha winces. “I got hit by a cudgel a couple of times and drugged. It was nothing terrible. I’ll be fine in a few days.”

Trevor grabs her hand. “We need to get out of here,” he says. “I can check you out once we get into the woods.”

He leads her out. The main hall of the church, where the priests and the bishop had confronted her, is a wreck. One of the stained glass windows is shattered, and Sypha’s stomach turns when she sees the bodies lying on the floor, thrown across the pews.

“They’re not dead,” Trevor says hastily. “Just…incapacitated.”

They flee the church and make their way to the city gates swiftly. It’s full dark outside, no stars, no moon, a cloudy night. Thankfully, the city is deserted at this hour.

“The pricolici?” Sypha asks, out of breath. Her body still hasn’t recovered from the use of magic, and everything hurts. They had stabled their wagon and horses at a small inn two miles from the city, and hopefully the agents of the church hadn’t found them on their search for her Speaker caravan.

“We need to forget the pricolici for a while,” Trevor says tersely. He hasn’t let go of her hand.

“What? Why?”

“When you didn’t show up to our meeting spot, I started to get worried. I checked out the Crisan district and started asking around about a young woman in Speaker’s robes. The butcher and his wife told me that you had visited their shop, and just after that, they saw you being led away by two priests.”

“Oh,” Sypha says, her stomach sinking.

“Yeah.” Trevor sighs. “I think people are going to put two and two together tomorrow morning, when they link up a Speaker taken into custody by the Church, a Belmont asking questions about the missing Speaker and where she went…and four priests and a bishop found unconscious in their church. We’re not going to be able to show our faces in Satu Mare, or even this part of the county, for a long time.”

They reach the inn, and Sypha waits outside, shifting from foot to foot anxiously, the snow crunching underneath her feet. Trevor goes in to settle their bill, and emerges a few minutes later with the horses and the wagon. “I know you need to rest, but we should put some miles between us and this place, just in case,” he says, as he helps her up and wraps his cloak around her.

“No, I agree. I’m fine.”

They head deep into the forest, finding an almost completely overgrown side road to travel down. Trevor is trembling a little, his jaw clenched, and there’s a strange look in his eyes. He doesn’t let go of her hand, and she curls her fingers around his. “I am so sorry for worrying you. And for ruining our hunt.”

Trevor looks at her out of the corner of his eye. “You have nothing to apologize for.”

They ride for four hours, Sypha nestled against his shoulder in an intermittent, uneasy sleep, before he decides that they are far enough away to stop for a brief rest. “One and a half hours,” Trevor decrees. “That’s all we should risk.”

He hops down first, and carefully lifts her down beside him. “How are you feeling?”

“Not my best, but I’ll be fine after a few days of rest.” Sypha reaches up, touching his face briefly. She hasn’t seen him look so upset since they had first met. “It’s all right, Trevor. Relax.”

“No, it isn’t,” he bites out, taking a step back, as if her touch had burned him. “I thought you were _dead_ , Sypha _._ ”

“But I’m not,” she tries to placate. “I don’t think I was in real danger. And you know that I am well-equipped to defend myself.”

“I…” Trevor looks away. “They said that the Church took you,” he says flatly. “And you want to know what I thought about, the first thing I thought about? I thought about Dracula.”

Sypha rests a hand on his arm, trying to comfort him.

“I felt - so enraged, so powerless, so helpless.” Trevor runs both hands through his hair, making it stand on end, and looks at the sky. “And I _understood_ him. That was how he must have felt, when he heard they took Lisa. No force on heaven or earth was going to stop me from getting to you. But what if I was too late, like he was with her? What then?”

Sypha opens her mouth, searching for the right words to find the right words, but her thinking still feels a little slow, a little muddled. She can’t seem to move past the fact that Trevor had felt for her, what Dracula had felt when Lisa had been taken from him. Lisa, his beloved wife of twenty years.

Trevor wraps his arms around her unexpectedly, pulling her close. He exhales, a long, ragged breath, and it ruffles her hair. “God, Sypha,” he says, and his voice breaks. “I thought I had lost you.”

She closes her eyes and listens to the beat of his heart; faster than usual. “Trevor,” she says. “You are never, ever going to lose me.”

Trevor pulls back, and when she looks up at him, he cups her face in both of his hands and leans down and kisses her.

She goes stiff with shock. Her knees almost buckle under her. It’s a frozen sort of feeling, surreal, disbelief falling over her like a cloak.

It only lasts for a couple of moments. Just when she feels Trevor move like he’s about to draw back, Sypha stretches up on the tips of her toes and grabs the collar of his shirt with both hands, pulling him back to her and kissing him back as hard as she can, pouring every bit of the feelings she’s carried around with her for the past year into it.

They stay like that for a long time, one of Trevor’s hands on her waist and the other at the small of her back, leaning her slightly backwards, before they finally pull slightly apart. Sypha’s heart is pounding like she’s just sprinted over a long distance, and she feels dazed, but she smiles up at him. It feels like the first time she’s smiled in an eternity.

Trevor looks down at her, stunned. “You…” he says slowly, looking bewildered. “You…like me?”

She has to bite back a laugh, a _no, you idiot, I love you ._ “Yes.” Sypha takes his hand, interlacing their fingers together. He looks so stunned, and she tilts her head to the side, confused. “Wasn’t that obvious? All this time, I thought you knew. I assumed you had to know that I - how I felt about you.”

Trevor shakes his head, dazed. “Sometimes I wondered,” he says. “But I thought I was just imagining things. Just stupid wishful thinking.”

“No! Why would you say that?” Sypha frowns, confused. It feels like the world she knew has shifted underneath her feet. “Trevor, how long have you felt this way?”

“Ages,” he says simply. “Since before Braila, probably.”

“ _Before_ Braila?” Sypha asks disbelievingly. It had been months, then, maybe as long as it had for her. “Why didn’t you say something?”

Trevor rubs the back of his neck, looking down at the ground. “I didn’t know how. And I didn’t really know how you felt.” He shrugs self-consciously. “You’re my closest friend. I didn’t want to fuck things up between us. I didn’t want to lose you.”

“I’m so sorry.” Sypha presses a gentle hand to his cheek. “I thought I made my feelings for you clear, even before we started our travels together.”

“I picked up on it, sometimes. Or I thought I did. There were so many times I could have done something. Like that night at the harvest festival. Or after dinner on Christmas, and New Year’s, after we were alone. I felt like--”

“Like I was yours for the taking,” Sypha says, remembering the festival, remembering passing under the mistletoe hung in the doorway of the sitting room after Christmas dinner. Alucard had just left them, and Trevor had pointed out the mistletoe, but then he’d made a snide comment about how it was probably infested with wood lice, and they had just laughed it off.

“Yeah. I wanted to, but I couldn’t.” Trevor sighs, frustrated. “Even when I told myself that maybe you did feel something for me.”

“Why? I’ve never known you to hold back. You say whatever comes into mind, no matter how rude or ill-advised.”

Trevor smirks faintly, bitterly. “I thought you deserved better than me.”

Sypha stares at him, shocked. “How could you say that?” she demands.

“Look at yourself, Sypha. You’re probably one of the best scholars of magic alive. And you’ve been traveling around Wallachia for your entire life, helping people. I became a functional adult about a year ago in Gresit,” Trevor says, without rancor. “I’m...the opposite of you, in almost every way. I figured that you should be with someone smart, and kind, and passionate. Someone worthy of you.”

“How dare you presume to know what’s best for me!” Sypha snaps, anger rising in her, and she gestures at him furiously. “And don’t be so hard on yourself! You are the strongest, bravest man I have ever met, and you would give your life to protect the people of Wallachia. You’ve proven that a hundred times over.”

Trevor retreats a step, clearly taken aback. “All right,” he says. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you.”

Sypha glares at him. “You _are_ worthy of me. And there is nobody else on this earth I would rather be with. Do you understand that?”

“Yes,” Trevor says, rather meekly.

“Good. I’m glad we are on the same page.” Sypha looks at him and shakes her head, her anger abating, as the full realization of the situation sets in. “Months,” she says softly. “I can’t believe it.”

Trevor looks like he’s going through the same thought process. He scoffs, sticking his hands in the pockets of his cloak, and kicks at the snow. “We’re such idiots,” he says. “I’m glad Alucard isn’t here. He’d laugh himself sick.” A fleeting glimpse of amusement passes over his face, but then his expression changes, and he looks almost sad. “We’ve wasted so much time.”

Sypha closes the distance between them. She wraps her hands in the collar of his cloak and looks up at him. “No moment that I have ever spent with you was a waste,” she says emphatically.

Trevor brushes a lock of hair out of her face, a gentle touch that makes her skin tingle. “Not even that one night I got really drunk in Iasi and threw up on your boots?” he asks, keeping a straight face.

Sypha scowls at him in mock anger. “Now that you mention it, I could stand to forget that night.”

Trevor kisses her then, and Sypha kisses him back, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and pressing herself against him. He pulls her into the warm folds of his cloak, holding her tight, and she is completely blindsided by how incredibly natural and right this feels, despite the newness of it. It is perfect.

They stay locked together until Sypha has to withdraw to catch her breath. Trevor looks pleased with himself and regretful at the same time. “We should rest,” he says, somewhat reluctantly, though he’s still holding on to her hips, rubbing circles into them with his thumbs. “We must only have half an hour left before we have to start moving again.”

Sypha eyes him deliberately, making her meaning clear. Despite the long day, she is wide awake, and warm and restless despite the cold. Her hands almost physically ache with how badly she wants to touch him, and pull his hands onto her body, and make every one of the fantasies she’s ever had about him a reality. “I don’t want to sleep.”

Trevor heaves a sigh, and he now looks like he is hating himself more with every moment that passes. “I can’t believe I’m saying this. I can’t believe you’re making me be the voice of responsibility for this team. Is that really what you want, Sypha?”

“Worth it,” she says rebelliously.

Trevor reaches a hand out to her. “We’ll reward our patience when we get somewhere safe,” he says, as much to himself as to her. “Deal?”

Sypha smiles up at him. “Deal.”

She takes his hand, and they return to the wagon together.

-

_to be continued_

_-_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thank you so much to everybody who left kudos and comments on the previous chapter(s). I love reading your comments! They make me so happy.


	5. Part Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trevor and Sypha navigate changes to their relationship.

Trevor and Sypha travel at a steady, quick pace for the next day, with minimal stops, just enough for the horses to refresh themselves. They chart a more erratic course than usual, traveling north, east, west at irregular intervals, until they determine that they’re far enough from Satu Mare to spare a night’s rest.

They hold hands for almost the entire journey, fingers interlaced tightly, huddled together against the cold. It is a small, simple gesture, but it is immeasurably comforting. The long stretch of travel is tiring, but Sypha feels alert, her mind buzzing. Sometimes she can’t believe that it is real, the feeling of Trevor’s palm pressed against hers, her shoulder against his arm. Sometimes she looks over at him questioningly and she catches him looking at her out of the corner of his eye with the same expression on his face, the same look of  _ I can’t believe that this is real,  _ and she holds him tighter. 

Sypha changes into her red dress after dinner, while they are about an hour away from the town of Constanta, not wanting a repeat of the incident in Satu Mare. She hides her Speaker cloak deep in the secret floorboard compartment in the back of their wagon, where they keep the scrolls and notes that expose them as anything but normal travelers.

“I hate this. I hate that I have to do this,” Trevor complains, as he strips off his usual Belmont tunic, tossing it in the compartment next to her cloak. He’s standing close beside her, enough that she can feel the warmth coming off his body, even in the chilly air. 

“So you have to wear another tunic, Trevor,” Sypha says patiently, trying not to stare at him. “That doesn’t make you any less of a Belmont.” 

“It’s the  _ principle,  _ Sypha. The fucking Church and the rest of this country should give the family name the respect it’s due, instead of hating and fearing it. Especially after everything you and I have done since killing Dracula.” Trevor grimaces at the plain dark green tunic he had picked up from their supply stores in the back of the wagon. He had bought it, and never worn it, after the New Year. He pulls it on and stands there, looking quite disgruntled.

“See, it’s not so bad. You haven’t burst into flames.” 

“It’s itchy,” Trevor grumbles, rubbing his sleeves irritably. “And I stand by what I said earlier. It makes me look like a pine tree.”

“You do look like a pine tree,” Sypha agrees, with a smirk. “A very angry pine tree. Especially when your hair sticks up like that.”

Trevor scowls, and she laughs, reaching up and smoothing his hair down. It’s rough to the touch and tickles her hands. Despite the teasing, it is nice to see him in something different. The green suits his gray eyes, and though the fabric is rough and simple, it falls over his broad shoulders and chest in a way that is very pleasing.

That being said, Sypha has the dark suspicion that she would find everything he wears equally agreeable. She has even caught herself admiring him while he wears his plain black potato sack-like sleeping tunic. It’s insufferable.

“How do we look now?” Trevor asks, taking her arm. “Like a respectable couple? Not at all like enemies of God?”

Sypha dissolves into laughter at the idea. She wraps a scarf around her head and shoulders, hiding her hair from view, just in case, and strikes a mock pious pose. “Of course. Shall we?”

The few other travelers they encounter on the road to Constanta pass them by without a second look. They find an inn just within the town’s gates to stable their horses and stay for the night, and luckily, the innkeeper doesn’t seem at all suspicious of them either. Perhaps the news of the Belmont and the Speaker that assaulted four servants of God hasn’t spread that far out of Satu Mare yet. 

Their room is on the second floor, not ideal for making an emergency exit. Luckily, the way things have gone tonight, they probably won’t have to. Trevor enters first, pulling his cloak off and carelessly tossing it onto the narrow bed. “Tiny, but it could be worse,” he says. “At least this one doesn’t have black mold on the ceiling.”

“We have such a glamorous life,” Sypha says dryly, locking the door behind her and checking it. She unwinds her scarf absentmindedly, setting it on the small, splintering side table next to the bed. “It almost makes me wish--” 

She trails off, suddenly preoccupied by Trevor’s hands on her hips, lightly pinning her to the door as he presses a kiss to the back of her neck. His stubble scrapes her skin, and she shivers. 

“Oh, I think it’ll be just fine for our purposes,” he says. “Don’t you?”

Sypha turns around and takes a firm grasp of his shoulders. She whirls him around, pressing him against the wall rather more assertively and leaning her entire body against his. “Does that answer your question?” she asks coyly, stretching up on the tips of her toes. 

Trevor laughs, and the look of delight and appreciation in his eyes warms her from the inside out. “Forward,” he says, placing his hands on the small of her back. “I like it.”

He kisses her enthusiastically, and Sypha responds in kind, caressing his neck and shoulders. It is so nice to touch him, really touch him, not just the could-be-friendly holding of arms and pats on the shoulder and back that they have exchanged for all these months. Kissing him is just as good as she remembers; it hadn’t been a fluke before. She can’t hold back tiny, involuntary sounds of pleasure, and she feels Trevor smile against her lips like the smug bastard he is. 

But she squirms away after several minutes, frowning, and Trevor looks at her, concerned. “What’s wrong?”

“You!” Sypha says indignantly, smoothing down her dress. “I can’t concentrate on touching you when you’re touching me like that. It’s very distracting.”

Trevor bursts into laughter, and Sypha feels herself turning as red as her dress. “I can’t keep my hands to yourself with you wearing this,” he says, running his hands along her waist, as if to prove his own point. “I love you in this dress. And in your Speaker cloak, and that sleeveless tunic you wore with pants when it was warmer out, and that green dress you borrowed at Alucard’s that one time for New Year’s, but  _ especially _ in this dress.” 

“Your flattery is appreciated, but it will get you nowhere, Belmont. I will not concede my point,” she says stubbornly. “We can take turns. I’ll touch you, and you can keep your hands to yourself so that I can focus on my efforts. Then you can do the same to me.”

“You are so strange,” Trevor says, with the air of a tolerant lover indulging his eccentric partner. Which, Sypha realizes, mildly horrified, he is. And all this time, she had thought she was the patient, tolerant lover and he the eccentric partner.

“It’s fine, though.” Trevor takes her hand and brings her hand to his face, before kissing her palm lightly. He releases her hand, giving her a rather suggestive look. “But when it’s my turn, I won’t want you to keep your hands to yourself.” 

“I probably wouldn’t be able to, anyway,” Sypha says ruefully. She places her hands on his shoulders again, rubbing her thumbs along his collarbones, before running one hand slowly down his chest. She feels his breath catch in his chest, and she moves both hands back up and over his upper arms, silently marveling at the amount of hard muscle there.

Trevor makes a suspicious sort of coughing sound, but by the time Sypha glances up at him, he has straightened his features. 

“What?” she asks. “Are you hurt somewhere?”

“No,” he says, amused. “It’s just the way you’re looking at me. It’s like you’re examining one of the specimens in Alucard’s labs.” 

“Well, excuse me for being fascinated,” Sypha sniffs. “You’re very strong, you have nice muscles, and I’ve wanted to do this for a long time.”

Trevor preens like a proud eagle, drawing himself to his considerable, full height and running a hand through his hair. “I love it when you say nice things to me. You should do it more often.”

Sypha silences him by reaching up, taking a fistful of his hair, and gently pulling him closer to her. She cups his jaw in one hand and kisses up the line of his neck, feeling his stubble against her lips, breathing in the scent of his cheap olive oil soap. Trevor breaks the rules and wraps his arms around her, and she can almost feel his knees go weak underneath him. “Fuck, yes, Sypha,” he says, his voice barely audible. “That feels so good.”

She beams against his neck, vindicated, before continuing her work, kissing along his jaw bone before he loses patience and leans down sharply, reclaiming her lips with his. She doesn’t even notice he is moving them until she feels her back press against the wall. Sypha raises an eyebrow wordlessly, and she finds she likes how hungrily, how intently Trevor is looking at her. “My turn,” he says. 

“I’ll allow it,” Sypha manages, before getting cut off with another kiss, this one even more intense than the last. He works less slowly than she had - Trevor’s never been one for patience. He tilts her chin up with one hand and kisses her neck and the exposed skin he can reach on her shoulders, leaving her breathless, gripping at his hair and whispering his name. That would be over-stimulating enough even without the way he is touching her, and the fact that she can feel the heat of his hands through the material of her dress. 

Sypha reaches back for the laces of her dress, tugging at them clumsily, and Trevor notices the movement. “Are you okay?” he asks.

“I’m fine. Just trying to loosen these. I feel warm.” 

“Your hands are shaking,” Trevor says, looking somewhat perturbed. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m _ fine _ ,” she insists. 

Trevor peers down at her. “No, you’re not. You look…” He frowns, as if a thought has suddenly occurred to him, and he places a gentle hand on her cheek. “Are you nervous?” 

He knows her too well for her to hide it, and Sypha sighs. “Yes and no,” she admits candidly. “Yes, a little, just because I have never done any of this before. But at the same time, I could never really be nervous, because I am with you. Does that make sense?”

Trevor blinks, and then he hugs her. “Yeah,” he says. “I’ve felt the same way, every fight that I’ve been in with you next to me.” 

Sypha closes her eyes, feeling uncharacteristic tears prick at them. “Oh, Trevor, I love you,” she murmurs. 

She hadn’t planned to say it; the words had slipped out entirely of their own accord. They feel as right and natural as being by his side and kissing him. Before she can even regret it, she feels a kiss on top of her head, right where she wears the silver pin that Trevor had given her for Christmas. “I love you too,” he says, and she hears the smile in his voice.

Sypha pulls back and beams at him, before throwing her arms around him, kissing him so hard that he stumbles backward with the force of it. Trevor steps back, his hands still around her waist, and sits on the bed, pulling her onto his lap. 

“You know how you said there have been moments where you felt like I was yours for the taking?” Sypha asks, kissing him on the cheek.

She feels him smile. “Yeah, I remember.”

Sypha reaches back around to the laces of her dress, and her movements are steadier this time, the nervousness abated. “Well, this is one of them.”

* * *

They continue on their travels the next day, though they wake much later in the morning and leave Constanta later than they normally do. From there, they travel to Medias, Alba Iulia, Pitesti, and Rasnov in turn, purging the areas of every vampire they come across.  

Once or twice, some time ago, Sypha had wondered in passing what it would be like if her dream of being with Trevor actually came true. She had wondered what would change, if anything.

She finds that the transition between best friends to lovers is seamless, which is a source of quiet delight. Nothing between them changes at all, save for the physical intimacy, and the comforting ability to kiss and touch and cuddle and hold hands anytime they please. That is exactly what Sypha had hoped; they work as well as a unit as they ever did. They bicker and snipe at one another as usual (she tells him he’s reckless, and he thinks she is overly cautious), but they never truly fight or argue. Trevor is happier than she has ever seen him before, too; quicker to smile, kinder to the townspeople they meet in their travels, and slightly less bitter and sarcastic. 

After killing a positively ancient vampire in Resnov, one older even than Dracula had been, Trevor and Sypha linger a day and stay for the springtime festival. Sypha weaves both of them matching crowns of daisies, though when Trevor point-blank refuses to wear his, she has to wear both. They enter the festival’s dance competition, kiss between every round, and win second place. (Trevor nearly gets into a fistfight with the first-place winner.) Afterward, they go to the pub for dinner, where Trevor gets amusingly tipsy off apricot wine, and Sypha lets him feed her small cherry-and-cream tarts. 

* * *

They buy a few bottles of apricot wine from the pub and convey them back to Alucard’s castle. It is a peaceful, beautiful journey. There is soft green grass underfoot again, wildflowers in bloom, and new, fresh leaves on the trees. Every evening, they try to find a scenic picnic spot to have dinner. Sypha points out the brilliant colors of the sunset, every evening a different palette. Trevor rests with his head in his lap and admits he had never paid much attention to color and sunsets before her.

Sypha had written to Alucard to let him know to expect them. He tells them to meet him in Tacini, a village two hours from the castle, at the makeshift clinic he has cobbled together - formerly just an abandoned house. The sun is setting when they arrive in Tacini, and they leave their horses and the wagon with the village watchman. 

They stroll down the streets, hand in hand, but there is a tension in Trevor’s shoulders and an unhappy twist to his mouth that she hasn’t seen in a long time. “What’s wrong?” Sypha asks, in an undertone. “Is there anything amiss?”

He glances down at her. “This village was part of the family’s lands, back when we had lands,” he says, and then stops abruptly. Sypha infers the rest at once, and rests a compassionate hand on his arm. 

“It’s petty and small of me, and it goes against what we stand for, but part of me wishes Alucard wouldn’t help them,” Trevor admits, his voice barely audible. He kicks at a pebble in their path savagely. “These people were part of the mob that turned on my family, after the Church denounced them. The people who killed my father and burned my mother alive are probably still alive, safe and happy in their stupid fucking houses right now. They’d attack us if they could see the crest on my tunic, underneath my cloak. They’d try and kill Alucard if they knew where he lived, let alone who he is.”

“It’s natural and normal to feel angry about this,” Sypha says softly. “I would feel the same way if I were in your shoes.”

“Would you?” Trevor asks. He runs a hand through his hair, visibly preoccupied. “That makes me feel better. I feel like a hypocrite - I’m sworn to protect the people of Wallachia, while at the same time I have such vengeful feelings for all of our former tenants. It makes me feel like Dracula.”

“If it helps, consider that many of the people Alucard helps here are just children,” Sypha points out. “Innocents who weren’t even born, or who were very young, when everything happened. From what you’ve told me, your parents and all of your family before them were kind to their tenants, and protected them and cared for their well-being in a way the nobility often does not. Surely it would please their spirits to know that Alucard is looking out for them now?” 

Trevor smiles, small and far away and somewhat wistful. She has the feeling he’s remembering his father, and the way he would turn a blind eye to any tenants hunting in the Belmont forest, and his mother, and how she would bake loaves and loaves of bread for the villagers. “Yeah,” he says. “You’re right.” He leans down and kisses her on top of the head, a surprise, and Sypha blushes. 

The clinic comes into view at the end of the street then, and a tall, slender figure in a white coat, shutting and locking the door. Sypha smiles and opens her mouth to call out to their friend, but Trevor beats her to it, immediately shouting obscenities at him. She groans and palms her forehead instead.

Alucard turns, looking completely unsurprised. “Sypha, you look well,” he greets, the barest hint of a smile flickering over his face. “Belmont, you’re as hideous as ever. And I see you still have the manners of a mountain troll.” His sharp eyes fall to their hands, fingers still intertwined, and he raises an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me that you two are holding hands as friends now. Though that wouldn’t surprise me.”

Sypha beams, and Trevor grins, aiming a friendly punch at Alucard’s shoulder that knocks him a couple of paces back. “Sypha isn’t blind to my charming nature, unlike some people.” 

“Charming nature?” Sypha asks disbelievingly. “There are many reasons why I fell for you, Trevor Belmont, but your  _ charming nature  _ is not one of them.” 

Alucard laughs, and Trevor grimaces, staggers, and does a great impression of pulling a knife out of his chest. They chatter happily all the way back to the wagon, to the castle, and then over dinner, dessert, and their typical post-dessert drinks. Alucard tells them all about the rapid progression of his medical studies and the fact that he has been able to transition from studying theory to actual practice in a matter of a few months. They talk about their travels, recounting battles and adventures, often standing and leaping around the study to provide visual demonstrations of certain fight moves. Trevor demonstrates his surprising skill at vocal impersonations and leaves both of them breathless with giggles at his impressions of the more idiotic or unsavory characters they have encountered over the months. 

Alucard listens to their story of Satu Mare, and Sypha’s imprisonment by the Church, and his eyes narrow and fist goes white-knuckled around his glass of wine. His expression only softens when Sypha tells him how she and Trevor had confessed their feelings to one another afterward. 

“I’m glad that you both escaped unharmed,” he says, gaze flickering between both of them. “Your enchanted scroll helps, Sypha, but I...I do worry, when you two are traveling, because of instances like this. Humans are so fragile.”

Sypha feels the smile fade from her lips at that, at imagining what it must be like for Alucard to worry that one day, their messages won’t appear on the enchanted scroll anymore; that the season will change, and he will wait for them, and they won’t arrive at the castle. His mother had been human, and fragile. He had been away studying at the university in Bucharest, and he had arrived home on break the following day to find that she had been taken by the Church. It breaks her heart. 

Surprisingly, Trevor doesn’t tease him. “Oh, we’re not going anywhere,” he says, popping another apricot into his mouth. “Season after season, year after year, we’re going to keep turning up here, like - what’s the phrase? Like bad coppers.”

“To eat me out of hearth and home,” Alucard sighs. “ _ Two  _ racks of lamb just for yourself tonight, Belmont. Your gluttony never ceases to astound me.”

“This was child’s play, Alucard,” Sypha says, waving a hand dismissively. “You should have seen him in Resnov. He ate two and a half cherry-and-cream pies,  _ after  _ having an entire chicken for dinner.” 

“I have a great talent and am underappreciated in my time,” Trevor sniffs. He stands up, a little unsteady from the apricot wine, and a boysenberry beer that Alucard had unearthed from the cellar for him. “I’m feeling it now, though. I can’t keep my eyes open. But that may just be a side effect of talking to Alucard. Sypha?”

“I’ll come up in a bit,” Sypha says, giggling at the look on Alucard’s face. “Good night.”

He ruffles her hair affectionately, and feigns doing the same to Alucard. “I will bite you,” Alucard warns, leaning away, and Trevor laughs all the way out of the study.

Sypha watches him go, smiling. She still can’t get used to how nice it is to hear him laugh, genuinely, not the short, bitter, sarcastic sounds he used to make when she had first met him. 

“I’m happy for you,” Alucard observes, a wry smile on his face. “You definitely waited long enough." 

Sypha pulls a face at him, knowing he’s teasing. “What about you?” she asks, taking a sip of her wine. “Have you met anyone, now that you’ve been leaving the castle more?” 

Alucard shrugs one shoulder. “No one has ever caught my eye like that,” he says. “Not while I was at the university in Bucharest, and not now.”

“Oh,” Sypha says uncertainly. 

Alucard must pick up on the worry in her voice, because he reaches across and pats her hand once. “I don’t mind it,” he says. “To love is to open yourself up to pain, and it feels like I’ve had enough of that for a lifetime.” 

His bleak view of what love is goes against everything she has ever believed, but she doesn’t argue; doesn’t insist that yes, love opens you up to pain, but also to such great joy. Alucard’s father had loved his mother, and been driven mad by the loss of her, and he had witnessed all of it. No wonder he is wary. 

“I understand,” is all that Sypha says. 

“You always do.” Alucard smiles slightly. “I mock him, but Trevor’s a better, kinder man after being with you. You’ve rubbed off on him, in a good way.”

Sypha rolls her eyes. “If he were here, he’d probably make a filthy joke about that.”

“Oh, absolutely.”

“Speaking of bad jokes--” Sypha pulls out a scroll from her satchel. “I’ve been taking notes on some of the healing practices from different clinics in the towns we’ve passed through. I thought you might find it interesting. You’ll never believe it, in Valoye  _ and  _ Merest I heard people talking about a practice called trepanation for the treatment of headaches…”

* * *

Five months later, in a graveyard in Kolvoca, Trevor almost dies during a battle with two fire-breathing demons.

He is fighting one, turns his back on the other, and the second demon breathes a torrent of flame at him. Sypha knows a second of pure terror, unlike anything she has ever felt in her life or in combat, and time seems to slow. She tackles him to the ground, so that they’re both just badly singed, but not immolated. The demons advance towards them, horrifying and reptilian and fast, and desperation motivates her. She shouts an incantation and gestures violently with her hands, and the earth underneath the demons’ feet shoots up, imprisoning them up to their necks in hard, packed dirt.

“Now!” she yells, and Trevor already has his whip to hand. He strikes both of them, and they shriek in agony and crumble into dust.

The graveyard is silent. 

“Fuck,” Trevor says. “I hate this job, sometimes.”

Sypha takes a deep, steadying breath, and fights the tears welling up in her eyes. She normally doesn’t allow herself to indulge in fear and worry, but on nights like this, she can’t help but be terrified that this is how she and Trevor will end, with one of them falling in battle. He had told her once that it was unusual for Belmonts to live past thirty-five or forty, if they were exceedingly lucky. His grandparents had been anomalies. His parents had been thirty-three when they died. 

He places a hand on her shoulder, perhaps reading something of her thoughts. “Hey,” he says. “Let’s get out of here.”

They make their way back to their inn on the outskirts of Kovolca in silence. It is at least a comfort to know that after they move on, the townspeople will be able to leave their homes after sundown again, without fear of the disappearances that have plagued the town for the past couple of years. 

Trevor barely waits for her to lock the door of their room before pouncing on her, divesting her of her Speaker cloak and the rest of her clothes in record time. Sypha pushes him toward the bed and climbs onto his lap, running her hands over his shoulders and back as he buries his head in her breasts. It’s one of the things that they both like the best, and she whimpers and moans, not even trying to keep quiet, as his fingers dig into her hips, guiding her movement above him.

“If I have to die, this is how I want to do it,” Trevor informs her, his voice muffled against her skin. His stubble scrapes against her, and it feels so good. “Not burned alive by some horrible demon. Like this.” 

“If you don’t stop talking about dying, I will get off you,” Sypha says breathlessly.

Trevor laughs. “Oh, that’s not going to be the kind of getting off you’re doing tonight.”

“Trevor!” 

Maybe it’s a mistake, doing it in that position, one that’s brought them close to so many accidents before, but it feels so good and she doesn’t want to stop, to lie down and pull him on top of her, which is safer. He knows exactly what she likes, and it’s just a matter of minutes before she comes hard, trying not to scream his name. It isn’t much longer after that that they both collapse onto the bed, gasping for breath.

“Sorry,” Trevor manages, when he recovers the ability to speak. “Fuck. Sorry. I shouldn’t have...I didn’t realize until it was too late…”

Sypha swallows over her suddenly dry throat. “It’s all right,” she says, in a voice that doesn’t quite sound like her own. Her monthly cycle had just ended a few days ago. She is no expert, but surely that is too soon to be fertile again. 

“I’m sure it’s fine,” Trevor says. He wraps an arm around her, pulling her close, kissing the top of her head, and Sypha closes her eyes, letting herself be reassured. 

-   
_to be continued_

_-_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you so much to everybody who left their comments and kudos on the previous chapter. :) I'm halfway done with the next one too.


	6. Part Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trevor and Sypha deal with a surprise.

Sypha reveals nothing to Trevor, but she is extra watchful over the coming days. She had heard from other women in her Speaker caravan about the earliest signs of pregnancy - fatigue, aching breasts, lower back pain, nausea. Nothing feels amiss, and toward the end of the second week, she starts to relax. It had just been once, after all. She knew women who had been trying to conceive for months and still hadn’t become pregnant.

Then her monthly bleeding is late. Two days late, and the silent panic kicks in. The two days becomes three and then four and then a full week. At this point, the silent panic is a constant, low-level drone in the back of her mind. Another half a month goes by with no sign of it, and finally the panic recedes and is replaced by a heavy, startling awareness. It’s with her every step that she takes, from the moment she wakes up in the morning to the moment she finally falls asleep at night.  _ I am pregnant,  _ Sypha thinks, numb, as she bathes in the public bathhouses or in the lakes and streams in the forest, running her hands over her still-flat stomach. 

On some level, Sypha knows that she should say something to Trevor, that she has to before her body starts to change and he notices, but he seems to have forgotten entirely about what happened and is going about life as normal. Every time she even thinks about broaching the subject with him she’s paralyzed, turned to stone like she had been by the Cyclops. But she has to talk to someone, she knows that. She’s been keeping up a pretense of everything being normal, and she feels like she’s about to go mad.

“Can we visit Alucard?” Sypha asks, when they leave Linov, a city newly free of a vampire. 

“Sure,” Trevor says, wrapping an arm around her. As much as she teases him for being whiny and complaining about small inconveniences like having to change out of his Belmont tunic at times, or mud puddles when it rains, he never denies her anything she asks. “It’s been a while. Should we stop at Rozkine and get some of that fancy cheese he liked so much last time?”

That particular goat cheese is something she has been craving of late, and Sypha acquiesces at once.

 

* * *

Alucard tries to pour her a glass of wine at dinner, and Sypha shakes her head and asks for tea as casually as she can. Trevor doesn’t seem to think anything of it and asks Alucard if the cook has lavender tea, because Sypha likes lavender tea the most. Alucard looks at her like she’s a puzzle he is trying to solve, and Sypha keeps her eyes determinedly on the cheese platter. 

They go through this again after dinner, over dessert and drinks in the study. She is sure Alucard is just confirming his suspicions at this point, and luckily, Trevor is too busy piling sliced peaches onto her dessert plate to notice. 

He’s the first to retire after midnight, as usual. Alucard and Sypha sit in unusual silence until the sound of his footsteps up the staircase has faded completely.

“How far along are you?” Alucard asks softly.

Sypha can’t help but draw her arms around her stomach protectively. Only the warmth of the season had made her shed her Speaker cloak for her sleeveless top and trousers, both of which still fit, thankfully. “Is it that obvious?”

Alucard shakes his head. “I wouldn’t have been able to tell from looking at you. It’s just the fact that you always have your one glass of wine at dinner, and your one glass over dessert, and you didn’t tonight.” 

“I’m just two months along.” Sypha says, leaning against the cushions with a long sigh. The early symptoms of pregnancy that she hadn’t noticed before her first missed monthly course are hitting her now, in force - especially the fatigue and the back pain. It has been growing harder to hide it from Trevor, and pretend everything is all right. 

“Any morning sickness?” Alucard asks, sounding so much like a physician - that the physician he is, now, like his mother used to be - that Sypha smiles. 

“It’s not too bad, thankfully. It’s just come on over the past couple of weeks, and luckily it’s not uncontrollable. I can fight the urge to throw up until I’m on my own.” 

Alucard sits back in his armchair, setting his glass of wine down. “So I’m correct in assuming that Belmont doesn’t know.”

Sypha ducks her head. “No, he doesn’t. Not yet. I haven’t been able to bring myself to tell him.”

Alucard frowns. “Is everything all right between you two?”

“Of course,” Sypha hastens to reply. “There’s nothing amiss. It’s just that it is hard news to break, when unwed, and in the line of work that we are in.”

“Even when you’re married, it can be a difficult conversation to have. My mother told me once that she felt the same apprehension before telling my father about me.” Alucard gives her a long look. “What do you want to do, Sypha? You have my help and support, no matter what it is.” 

She knows exactly what he means by that, and she twists her fingers together in her lap, struggling to find the words. “It would be smarter and easier to take a philtre to deal with this,” she manages to say, at last. “I would be unwell for a time, but then we would be able to continue on like nothing had happened. We have work to do.” 

“Yes,” Alucard says, after a long pause, studying her face. “But that’s not what you want, is it?”

Sypha shakes her head miserably, wrapping her arms around her middle. “I know it is silly. I can’t see it. I can’t even feel it move yet, but I know it is there with me every day and every night, a tiny, growing life, part of Trevor and part of me, and the thought of ending this, it…” She trails off, staring at the rug beneath them. 

“It upsets you,” Alucard says softly. 

“It does. More than I would have imagined.” Sypha scuffs her toes against the rug, burying them in the plush fabric. “You asked me what I wanted,” she says. “I want Trevor and I to be together, always, and to have a family. To be there for our child, and to give him or her a happy childhood that isn’t cut short by becoming orphaned. I want a son that Trevor can pass on the Belmont knowledge to, and a daughter that I can teach magic. It’s - it’s impossible, but there it is.”

“It is not impossible at all,” Alucard counters. “Why do you think it is? It’ll require some changes to both of your lives, that is certain, but do you think that Trevor wants the Belmont line to end with him? He’s always yapping about his family and their history and how nobly they served the people of Wallachia, before the Church turned against them. What was that he called the Belmonts that one time? The _sword in the darkness_ ?” He rolls his eyes affectionately.

Sypha blinks, taken aback. “I hadn’t considered that.” 

“Talk to him,” Alucard advises. “Then decide.”

Sypha reaches out and takes his hand. “Thank you,” she says, with feeling. 

“That’s what friends are for,” Alucard replies. He stands, and offers her his arm. “Come with me. I’ll mix you a philtre that will help with the morning sickness.” 

 

* * *

Sypha invites Trevor to go for a walk with her the following morning. The philtre Alucard had given her had banished her morning sickness, but she had been so anxious last night that she had hardly slept, and hadn’t made much of a dent in the eggs and sausages that Trevor had heaped onto her plate. 

They walk hand in hand on their usual path. Out of unspoken mutual agreement, they always retrace the path they had walked after Dracula’s defeat, when she had first asked Trevor to travel with her. Trevor talks about where they will go next, wondering aloud how much longer the weather will allow them to travel through the notoriously treacherous Tislia mountain pass to Timilati and all the regions east of the pass. Sypha remains noncommittal, her throat growing drier by the second.

They finally reach the scenic overlook, and Trevor flops down on the soft grass, tilting his head up to the sun. “It feels so good,” he says. “If heaven was real and not a fairy tale made up by the Church, I bet it would be always late summer there.” 

Sypha joins him, resting her head against his shoulder, and a small, reluctant smile tugs at the edges of her lips. “Ah, but then you wouldn’t have your cider. Early autumn should be the eternal season, when the harvest is in full swing and the leaves on the trees have changed color, but before the cold sets in.”

“Good point, about the cider,” Trevor says contemplatively. They sit in silence for a little while, before he glances down, wrapping an arm around her. “You okay?” he asks. “You look tired. Like you didn’t sleep well.”

Sypha swallows hard, marshaling all of her courage. It is insane and ridiculous that she had faced the generals of Dracula’s army with less fear than this. “I’m fine,” she says. “But there’s something I need to tell you.”

Trevor would normally make one of his little jokes, but maybe he notices her tone, and his brows draw together with worry. “What is it?”

Sypha takes a deep breath. “I’m pregnant,” she says, and the words come out steady. “What should we do?”

There is an agonizing silence. Trevor blinks, and then he runs a hand through his hair, the way he does when he is thinking about something. “Well, we’ll need to find your Speaker caravan,” he says. 

Sypha stares, nonplussed. “What?”

Trevor looks at her like she’s dim. “So your grandfather can marry us. Then we need to find a place to live, somewhere safe. Maybe we can stay with Alucard while I find somewhere, and you can enchant it, put wards all around it, so that no bloodthirsty mobs or no demons can find it.” He takes her hand and looks at her fingers. “Oh, and I need to get you a ring before we meet up with your grandfather,” he adds, as an afterthought.

Sypha bites her lip, fighting the tears welling up in her eyes. Trevor looks at her, alarmed. “Unless--” he says. “Do you not want--”

“No!” Sypha bursts out, wiping her eyes with the heels of her palms. She flings her arms around Trevor, burying her face in his cloak. She hadn’t realized the weight of this burden that she’s carried around all this time until now that it’s left her, and she feels so light, almost weak with relief. “I didn’t think _you_ __ would want it. I thought you would want me to get rid of it.”

Trevor rubs her back gently, and presses a kiss to the top of her head. “I knew that we were always going to end up here, Sypha,” he says. “This just means that it’s happening sooner rather than later.”

Sypha pulls back, and stares at him. “You wanted to marry me?”

“Uh, yeah,” Trevor replies, with his usual eloquence. “I can’t imagine life without you. You’re like my right arm, or my right leg, or my eyes.”

Sypha sniffles. “I think that’s the most romantic thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“No, I’ve definitely said romantic stuff before,” Trevor insists, before scratching his chin thoughtfully. “Haven’t I? I must have.” 

“You haven’t. But I love you anyway.”

Trevor holds her close, resting his palm on her stomach, and she hears the smile in his voice. “I love you too.”

 

* * *

They return from the clearing to find Alucard chopping wood on the front grounds of the castle. “Hey!” Trevor shouts, the second he comes into view, startling the birds from the trees. “Alucard! Sypha’s pregnant!” 

Sypha rolls her eyes, and she can’t resist gently teasing him, even though he’s grinning from ear to ear and it makes her melt to see him so happy. “What if I had wanted to tell Alucard? Did you ever think about that?”

Alucard sets down the axe and approaches them. He embraces her and Trevor in turn. “Congratulations,” he says sincerely. “I’m happy for both of you.” He smiles at Sypha, and she smiles back. 

Alucard calls the cook for lemonade, and they sit on the lawn together, each holding a chilled glass, as Trevor fills Alucard in on their plans. “We’re going to find Sypha’s Speaker caravan first, so her grandfather can marry us,” he says. “And then we need to find somewhere safe to live - safe from other people, and from the things we fight. We are not letting this kid grow up as an orphan.” 

Trevor’s hand is almost painfully tight around hers, and Sypha leans against him. “Trevor,” she says softly. “Don’t worry.”

He looks down at her. “My mother told my father not to worry, when there were rumors that the Church was going to denounce us,” he says, and he doesn’t have to finish the thought. They all know what happened to his parents, and the fate he had narrowly escaped. “I’m going to keep you and this kid safe, no matter what.”

Alucard clears his throat a little awkwardly. “I have an idea,” he says. “You may not like it. It may be strange.”

Sypha looks at him curiously. “Well, you’re strange, and we still like you,” Trevor replies. “Spit it out.”

Alucard glowers at him, and then turns to Sypha. “You could live here, in the castle,” he says. “All of you. There’s more than enough space. You’d have entire wings for yourselves. You could place the locking enchantment on it that you wrote last year, Sypha. It would be safe. And it’s right, in a way. This may be my father’s castle, but it’s sitting on the Belmont hold. These are your family’s lands, after all, Belmont.”

Trevor blinks. Sypha stares at him, touched. “You would do that for us?”

“Of course,” Alucard says simply. 

Sypha looks at Trevor, and then back to him. “We can’t thank you enough. It’s too kind.”

Alucard shrugs it off. “It’s nothing.” He pauses, as if searching for the right words. “You and Trevor are… If my mother had a daughter, she would have been just like you.”

Trevor seems to have recovered the ability to speak. “So, if Sypha’s like a sister to you, does that make me like your brother?” 

Alucard rolls his eyes. “No. You’re like the drunken village idiot my sister ran off with.” 

Sypha hugs him, and Trevor punches him on the shoulder. Unexpectedly, he bursts into laughter. “This is insane,” he says. “The Belmonts spend centuries trying to hunt down Dracula, and now my family is going to live in Dracula’s castle with their weird Uncle Alucard. My ancestors must be rolling in their graves.”

Sypha smiles, warmed by the way the words "my family"  had fallen so easily from his lips. It had sounded so right. “I think it’s incredibly touching. It’s the start of a new era.”

“Both sentiments are correct,” Alucard says. “Also,  _ weird Uncle Alucard _ ? Really?”

 

* * *

The following days pass in a flurry of activity. Immediately after her conversation with Trevor and Alucard, Sypha writes to her grandfather on her enchanted scroll and finds that her Speaker caravan is in Pavina, five days’ travel to the south. She shares the news that she and Trevor are betrothed and want to be married in the Speaker tradition, and his reply comes almost instantly, his joy for her visible in every line. The Speaker caravan will wait for them in Pavina to hold the ceremony. 

She and Trevor spend a delightful day in Dapes, in search of a ring and a wedding dress. It isn’t customary for couples to shop for these things together, but there is very little about her and Trevor that is traditional, anyway. Sypha helps Trevor choose a simple silver band with a small sapphire stone, reminiscent of the hairpin he had given her for Christmas. It fits her finger perfectly, and she can’t stop admiring it, despite how Trevor laughs at her. 

They visit the dress shop next. Sypha tries on dresses in every color, with different cuts to the skirts and sleeves and bodices, and different embroidery patterns. Trevor enters the changing area in the back of the small shop with her, which thoroughly scandalizes the shop’s proprietor.  Sypha rolls her eyes affectionately as Trevor eyes her with unmistakably lustful intentions in her states of undress between new dresses. 

“What about this one?” she asks, turning around to show him the cornflower-blue dress, with white vines embroidered along the skirt. 

“It’s nice,” he says, lounging against the wall and looking her up and down appreciatively. “You look great.”

Sypha sighs. “You’ve said that about all of them,” she says, indicating the pile of dresses thrown over the back of the splintering wooden chair in the corner of the room.

"Not true ,” Trevor counters, affronted, and he points at one of the dresses. “I said the neckline on that yellow one made your breasts look fantastic.”

Sypha tries not to laugh. “Luscious, you said. You complete pervert.” 

She glances over her shoulder into the chipped looking glass that had been placed against the wall and sighs again. They’ve been here almost an hour, with nothing to show for it. “I should pick one at random,” she says. “I know it’s silly, but I just can’t decide.” 

“Sypha,” Trevor says. He moves over to her and puts an arm around her waist. “You look beautiful, no matter what. I’d marry you in any of those, or your Speaker robes, or my sleeping tunic that you say looks like a potato sack, or that red dress you have. It doesn’t matter. All that matters is that I get to be with you, and our kid.” 

Sypha stretches up and kisses him. “You are wonderful,” she says. 

“I know,” Trevor replies smugly.

Sypha ignores him. “You meant it, about the red dress?” she asks, a thought occurring to her. She can’t believe it hadn’t crossed her mind already. “You don’t mind that it’s old?”

“I’m marrying you in this,” Trevor says, gesturing at the Belmont tunic hidden underneath his cloak. “I’ve had it for more than a decade. It’s been covered in mud and manure for months at a time, and bled on a thousand times, by a thousand different people. But mostly me. So no, I don’t mind that your dress is a year old.”

“I already smile whenever I look at it, because of remembering the autumn harvest festival we went to together,” Sypha confesses. “And our first night together, too.” 

Trevor smiles. “Then I can’t think of anything better for our wedding.”

Sypha buries her hands in the fur collar of his cloak, pulls him down to her, and kisses him again.

 

* * *

They set out for Pavina the next morning, Alucard traveling with them. The weather is marvelous, and the philtres that Alucard brews her keep Sypha’s morning sickness and her soreness and aches at bay, letting her appreciate it. She nestles beside Trevor in the front seat of the wagon and listens to him and Alucard sniping at each other, and she imagines ten years from now, a couple of dark-haired, blue-eyed children sitting in the back seat, joining in their conversation. She can’t wait to teach them all the things her parents had taught her on their travels, about the stars in the sky above them, and the plants underneath their feet, and eventually, how to use magic inspired by the natural world that surrounds them. This will be the rest of her life, and it fills her with warmth.

They stay up late to keep watch as Alucard sleeps, sitting hand-in-hand in front of the fire. They haven’t seen even a glimpse of any supernatural terrors in weeks, both during the trip to Alucard’s castle and now, during the journey to Pavina. 

Sypha points it out to Trevor, and he nods, drawing his cloak tighter around the both of them. “It’s been a good reprieve,” he says. “I hope it lasts.”

They haven’t discussed their work since she had broken the news of her pregnancy, and Sypha glances over at him, bracing herself for an argument. “We can resume our travels, after Pavina,” she says. “It will be safe for me to fight for a few more months, I think, or at least until I start to get big enough that it impacts my mobility.” 

Trevor frowns, as she knew he would. “I don’t think so,” he says. “I don’t like the idea of you fighting, in your condition.”

“I’m pregnant, not crippled,” Sypha retorts. “Women are capable of grueling labor during pregnancy, even fairly close to their due dates.” 

“This isn’t manual labor, though.” Trevor runs a hand through his hair, looking agitated. “It’s combat.”

“My fighting style isn’t nearly as physical as yours,” she points out. “All of my attacks are ranged.”

Trevor sighs. “I know how capable you are, Sypha,” he says. “Better than anyone else. But that doesn’t change the fact that I’ll worry about you too much. I’ve already been worrying enough, and that’s even without thinking of you fighting demons.”

There’s a brief, nightmarish image in her head then, of Trevor watching out for her when he should be protecting himself in battle, being careless or slow with his own reactions in order to look out for her. The thought actually makes her sick, and Sypha swallows over the nausea rising in her stomach. The consequences of Trevor going through even a moment of distraction in combat would be too much to bear.

“Fine,” she says, relenting. “I know how I worry about you. I don’t want to put you through the same heartache.” 

Trevor squeezes her hand. “Thanks,” he says. “I’ll hunt with Alucard, when he’s not doing his doctor thing. And we won’t travel far, especially not as you get further along. I’ll stop when we get close to when you’re due.” 

“Promise me you’ll be careful,” Sypha says, breathing through the anxiety that tightens her chest.

“I will,” Trevor says, at once. The firelight flickers on his face, and he looks as serious as she’s ever seen him. “I have you to fight for, and our kid, and our future. It’s more than I’ve ever had before. I promise you, I’m not letting anything or anybody drag me to hell.” 

 

* * *

They arrive in Pavina in the early evening of the fifth day, and they stable their horses and wagon at an inn a short walk from the entrance to the town. Sypha wears her blue Speaker robes, and Trevor carries her red dress, folded and carefully wrapped in one of Alucard’s cloaks, in the crook of his arm. Alucard carries a mysterious wrapped package as well, and refuses to answer her questions about what it is.

Sypha’s grandfather waits for them near the gates to the town, just as he said he would. His face lights up when he sees the three of them, and she runs to him, embracing him tightly. It’s been months since she and Trevor had seen him last; they had spent a few days with her Speaker caravan in Krasrin in the spring. 

Mateo takes her hand, the one with the ring on it, and smiles at her, before kissing her hand tenderly. “Congratulations, my dear,” he says. “Somehow I knew this moment would come, from the day I left you behind in Gresit with Trevor Belmont.” 

“You’re the only one who could have seen this coming, because I sure didn’t,” Sypha says wryly, but she smiles as her grandfather embraces Trevor and even Alucard in greeting. Both of them look taken aback by the genuine warmth. They’ve had little enough of it in their lives.

“No one’s been giving you any trouble?” Trevor asks, glancing around the streets somewhat suspiciously as they enter the town. 

Mateo shakes his head. “Almost all of the townspeople have been gracious and kind, even the officials of the church.”

“That’s a refreshing change,” Trevor mutters. “Don’t know that I’ve ever heard  _ gracious, kind,  _ and  _ church  _ mentioned in the same sentence before.” 

“It’s nice to see that some places know how to treat Speakers with respect,” Alucard says, though his mouth had tightened at the mention of the church. 

“So they’re actually letting us have our wedding here, even though it’s not a ceremony sanctioned by the Church?” 

“Well, it won’t be here,  but the land somewhere outside the town, right, Grandfather?” Sypha asks. 

Mateo nods. “There’s a beautiful meadow, just half a mile away from the south gate of town,” he says. “You’ll love it.” 

“Are Speaker weddings always outdoors, in nature?” Alucard asks curiously, before glancing at Trevor and Sypha. “Or was this something that you two preferred?”

“They’re always outside, in forests or meadows or the mountains, or whatever the surroundings are. Something to do with how Speakers belong to the land of Wallachia itself, and not to any particular town or village.” Trevor looks at her and her grandfather, uncertain. “Right?”

“Right,” Sypha says proudly. Just as she’s learned about the Belmont family, Trevor has familiarized himself with Speaker traditions. She nudges her grandfather. “Mother and Father married in the Swamps of Bezu, right?” 

Mateo laughs softly at the memory. “They did. We were in the deep south, with swampland for miles and miles around, and they just couldn’t wait. Their engagement was all of one week.” 

Trevor grins. “That sounds about in line with ours, Sypha.”

They take a short break at the public bath house. Trevor and Alucard disappear into the men’s baths, debating about whether swamps are dangerous, whether man-eating swamp plants are real, and what is really at the bottom of a swamp, anyway. The women’s baths are blessedly deserted, and Sypha submerges herself in the cool water and washes with the fancy lavender soap that Alucard had given her. This is her wedding day, and she can’t help but think of her mother. She tilts her head up to the ceiling and tries not to cry. 

She dresses in her beloved red dress, and dries her hair - which she’s kept in a neat shoulder-length bob for months - and slides her sapphire hair pin into it. She had purchased a tiny pot of lip rouge at a market in Vrutvo three days ago. Sypha dabs a small bit on her lips and blinks at her reflection in the small looking glass, fascinated by the effect, before gathering her Speaker robes and stepping outside, into the early evening sunlight.

Her grandfather is sitting on the bench across the cobbled path from the bath house, and he rises when he sees her. He smiles, but there are tears in his eyes. 

“I was thinking of her,” Sypha admits, and she takes his hands. “I wish she and Father could have been here today.” 

“You look so much like her,” Mateo says simply. “They would be so proud of you, and so happy, as I am.”

Alucard and Trevor emerge then, both of them looking exceptionally clean, Trevor in a fresh Belmont tunic. Alucard is wearing a new outfit, but still carrying the wrapped package. Trevor actually beams when he sees her, and takes her hand. “Right,” he says. “Can we go get married now?”

 

* * *

Their wedding is everything Sypha had dreamed it would be. The meadow is beautiful, soft grass underneath their feet, and late summer wildflowers blooming in a riot of orange, white, and yellow. The Speakers form a circle, Alucard joining their ranks, and Sypha and Trevor stand in the middle, facing one another, hands clasped together, as her grandfather recites the ancient words of the Speaker tradition.

The evening sunlight is a brilliant gold, and the light, warm breeze tousles Trevor’s hair. He smiles at her, looking happy and at peace, two words that Sypha would have never associated with him when they first met. Even after this long, the expressions still appear somewhat odd on his face, like the features so used to scowling and frowning and glaring are a little resistant to softening. Sypha hopes that a year from now, five years, ten, and more, it will be different.

She should be focusing on her grandfather’s words, but she can’t help but think back to a little more than two years ago, when Dracula’s nightmare horde had been newly unleashed, and she and her Speaker caravan had been newly arrived in Gresit. Every day and night had bought more horror, more sights of unspeakable bloodshed and carnage. A beautiful, peaceful day like today had seemed like an impossible dream. 

So much has happened since then. She had found Trevor and Alucard, and they had defeated Dracula, and she and Trevor have made Wallachia a safer place than the horror it was two years ago. Their country will be a safer place for the child she carries now, and for any that come after it. 

Her grandfather pronounces Trevor Belmont and Sypha Belnades married, with the land and sky of Wallachia their witness, and Sypha stretches up on the tips of her toes and kisses Trevor before her grandfather is quite finished talking. Trevor wraps his arms around her and kisses her back so hard that he lifts her off her feet. When they finally step apart, he looks over at Alucard and her grandfather. 

“I have something for Sypha,” he says. “Can I…?”

“Of course,” her grandfather says, and Sypha blinks curiously as Alucard steps forward, offering the mysterious package to Trevor. Alucard smiles at her, but says nothing to reveal the surprise.

Trevor unwraps it in front of all of them, shaking it out, and Sypha is struck speechless. It’s a black cloak just like his, fur collar and all, with the Belmont family crest stitched somewhat unevenly onto its back in yellow thread.

“It’s not safe to wear in public, obviously, but I thought it would be nice, to keep you warm at home,” Trevor says, somewhat self-consciously. “I wanted you to have something with our family crest on it. Alucard helped me with the stitching. His are nicer than mine.” 

“I think it’s perfect,” Sypha says, swallowing over the lump in her throat. “Thank you. I’d like to wear it now, since we’re among family and outside the town.”

Trevor sweeps the cloak over her shoulders and fastens it gently at the base of her throat. It’s a soft, warm weight, and it reminds her of every night on the road that they’ve huddled under his cloak together. 

One of the Speakers brings over a chalice of spiced wine for them to share with family. Sypha holds her grandfather’s hand, and Alucard stands at Trevor’s side. Afterward, they have their wedding feast, out on the meadow, as the sun sets. The Speakers pass around plates of cheese, sausage, bread, and fruit, and light carefully contained campfires, and roast a pig and a few chickens, and warm meat pies. There is more spiced wine, and beer, and even some cider, to Trevor’s delight. Alucard is surrounded by Speakers eager to hear stories of his medical practice and his time at the university in Bucharest. 

“How are you feeling?” Trevor asks her in an undertone, when they catch a moment alone, temporarily free of well-wishers. 

“Fine,” Sypha says, resting a hand against her stomach briefly. She smiles, looking out over the meadow, at the people sitting together and talking, laughing, enjoying their meals and the comfortable, easy companionship. “More than fine.”

Trevor follows her gaze. “It’s perverse and horrible, I know it, but I was thinking earlier, how grateful I am that everything happened,” he says, so softly she can barely hear him. “Everything with Dracula, and his horde of monsters. Does that make _me_ a  monster? So many people died. They were massacred by the hordes, even more brutally than animals going to the slaughter. But without all of that, I don’t know that I would have gone to Gresit and crossed paths with you and Alucard, and traveled Wallachia with you. All of that brought us here, to this.”

“I was thinking the same thing,” Sypha murmurs, privately reflecting, not for the first time, on how odd it is that both of their thoughts tend to wander in the same directions more often than not. She takes his hand. “I like to think we would have found each other nevertheless.” 

Trevor snorts. “Undoubtedly I would have been one of the half-dead drunkards the Speakers administer medical aid to when they find them wandering the roads.”

“Undoubtedly,” Sypha says dryly. “And unfortunately, I think I would have been as taken with you as I was in the current circumstances.”

Trevor grins at her. “I love you,” he says.

Sypha kisses him on the cheek. “I love you too.”

 

* * *

They have been back at Alucard’s castle - not just Alucard’s castle, Sypha has to keep reminding herself, their __ castle now too, their home - for just two days when Alucard looks at her and Trevor and matter-of-factly says that Sypha is probably close to three months along now, so he can check for a heartbeat.

Sypha settles herself on her armchair in the study, breathing deeply, trying to remain calm. Trevor is hovering around her, one hand protectively on her shoulder. “How big is the kid now, do you think?” he asks, squinting down at her stomach. “You barely look any different.” 

Sypha shifts positions, uncomfortable with the way her body strains against the fabric of her dress. The dress had fit perfectly before this pregnancy. "I _feel_   different.”

“It’s probably about the size of a lemon,” Alucard says. “It’s only because of my enhanced senses that I’ll even be able to hear its heartbeat with my stethoscope. Normal human doctors can’t hear heartbeats with stethoscopes until about six months along.” 

“A size of a lemon? That’s it?” Trevor looks aghast. “It’s only got six months to get to a normal baby size, then? Sypha, you need to eat more.”

“Easy for you to say,” she retorts. “This stupid morning sickness still isn’t leaving me alone.” 

“This is perfectly normal, Belmont. Relax.” Alucard places the stethoscope in his ears. “Sypha, are you ready?”

She nods, grateful for Trevor’s supportive presence near her. Alucard positions the stethoscope on her stomach and listens, an expression of rapt concentration sliding over his face. 

For several agonizingly long moments everything is still, all of them quiet, even Trevor, and then Alucard goes pale; even more pale than usual. 

“What is it?” Trevor demands, as Alucard slowly  removes his stethoscope, and Sypha feels her stomach plummet to her feet. “Is something wrong? Did you hear a heartbeat?”

“Yes,” Alucard says, looking at them, and Sypha is able to breathe again. She clutches Trevor’s hand hard, feeling faint with relief. There’s a small smile on Alucard’s face now. “Actually, I heard two.”

“ _ What?”  _

 

* * *

Later that night, after the shock subsides, Trevor brings Sypha a mug of lavender tea and they sit in bed together, under the covers. 

“Twins,” Sypha says, resting her head against his shoulder. “We certainly got a jump start on reviving the Belmont clan, didn’t we?”

Trevor nods, looking somewhat dazed. “There’s no history of twins in my family. It must have come from your side.”

Sypha rests a hand on her stomach. “It’s ridiculous, considering the hard work we have ahead of us, raising two at the same time instead of one, but I’m still excited.”

Trevor laughs. “Twins are going to be a piece of cake considering the things you and I have weathered, Belmont. I’m not concerned, just surprised.” 

Sypha giggles. “I still can’t get used to you calling me that. And you’re never concerned about anything you should be concerned about.”

“True,” Trevor says placidly. “It’s worked out well for me so far, though.” He places a hand on hers. “What are you most excited about?”

“Teaching them things,” Sypha says, at once. “My parents and my grandfather, all the elders in the caravan, really, they loved teaching me as I grew up. I had questions about everything - why was the grass green? Why was the moon different shapes on different nights? Why did the clouds look different based on the weather?”

“That’s adorable,” Trevor says, and he ruffles her hair. “Sounds like you, all right.” 

“They gave me the most perfect explanations. I was always so hungry to know, to learn, to understand the world around me, and they encouraged me beautifully.” Sypha smiles at the memory of her father, and how he would take her into the woods and show her which mushrooms were safe to harvest, which berries were safe to eat, which leaves were poisonous. “I want to do the same thing for our children. Knowledge is power, in the world we live in, and we are the first ones who will be able to pass that on to our children.” 

“That’s a good way of putting it. I don’t know that I’ve ever thought about it like that before.”

“What about you?” Sypha looks at him. “What are you looking forward to?” 

“It’s not as fancy as yours,” Trevor says, running a hand through his hair a little self-consciously. “Just having dinner together, and talking and telling stories about our days, and playing three-person chess afterwards. That’s what I missed most from my time with my parents, after.”

“That sounds lovely,” Sypha says softly. 

They sit in comfortable silence for a while, before Trevor heaves a massive sigh. “Oh, Christ. I just realized we’re going to have to come up with two names instead of one. And if they turn out to both be boys or girls, how are we going to tell them apart? We’ll have to mark one. Notch an ear or something.” 

Sypha brightens, and leans over to the nightstand, grabbing a roll of parchment and her quill and ink. “Shall we start making a list of names? What do you think about Xiraris? He’s a nature spirit of winter and ice.”

“Xiraris? Sypha, you have got to be kidding me…”

 

* * *

Sypha is close to eight months pregnant and hard at work.

She has six rolls of parchment covered in notes, front and back, and the table in the study is littered with various items from her experiment. Her back, shoulders, and neck are stiff from the long hours of work, and she stands up and stretches, looking down at her project. 

She’s been at work on this for the past five months - a way for her to remain bonded to Trevor while he and Alucard are on their travels. She had forged a link between her abilities, her magic, and Trevor’s physical presence. Her goal was that while Trevor was away, and she was sitting here in the castle, when she tapped into their link (a matching pair of amulets that she had enchanted), she would be able to see what he saw, and cast magic in Trevor’s environment. 

So far Sypha has successfully activated the link several times. She can see what he sees, hear what he hears. She’s been able to cast smaller spells in Trevor’s environment, too. Last time he and Alucard had been traveling, she had experimented with lighting their campfires and freezing a lake so they could walk over it. Both had gone off without a hitch. The next step will be testing larger offensive spells, as well as the healing magics that she has been studying. 

Using her magic like this is quite a strain, of course, and Trevor complains about it loudly and endlessly, saying she shouldn’t exert herself in her condition. She’s ignored him ever since the beginning. He and Alucard work flawlessly with one another in combat, but she still wants to be with them, even if she can't _physically_   be  with them. Mastering this technique to its fullest potential will come in very useful over the following few years, while the twins are still too young to be left with Alucard while they hunt. 

Sypha is staring at her work, absentmindedly massaging her neck, when her water breaks.

It takes a few moments to sink in. 

When it does, she takes a deep breath, remembering everything Alucard has told her over the past several months about what is going to happen now, what she can expect. Her hands shake a little, out of nerves and excitement. Slowly, carefully, Sypha moves out of the study, standing near the railway to the staircase. 

“Trevor?” she calls, hoping they have come up from the library. “Alucard?”

She hears movement in the downstairs sitting room. They emerge, both holding large books. “What’s up?” Trevor asks, looking up at her.

“My water broke. I think I’ll be going into labor soon.”

Sypha says it as calmly as she can, hoping her calm will flow to Trevor just as her magic does when they are linked.

It does not. 

Trevor makes a strangled sort of screaming noise. He drops the book and comes charging up the stairs like a bull - she’s never seen him move so fast, and that’s saying something. He wraps an arm around her, pulling her under the shelter of his cloak and rubbing her back. “It’s too soon! It’s only been eight months! Alucard, can you do something to reverse it?”

“You can’t stop labor once it’s started, Trevor,” Sypha says patiently. “Alucard did say that twins often come early, remember?”

Alucard follows at a more sedate pace, maintaining his usual composure. “I expected this,” he says, laying an encouraging hand on her shoulder. “We’ll handle it. Don’t worry. Belmont, Sypha, are you ready?”

Sypha takes Trevor’s hand and squeezes it, and he looks into her eyes, and that seems to give him strength. He nods, looking pale. “Yes,” Sypha says, without hesitation. 

-

_to be continued_

_-_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everybody who has left their comments and kudos on the story so far. It has been a joy to read every one. The epilogue is up as well, in the next chapter. :)


	7. Part Seven

“Now!” Sypha shouts.

She is paying rapt attention, ready to step in if she has to, but they snap into action at once. They work in unison, a perfect mirror image of one another as they cast the same incantation, one on the left and one on the right, their lips moving fast, murmuring the words of power they memorized long ago.

Hard-packed earth and stone explode from the ground underneath the werewolf’s feet, encasing his limbs, effectively imprisoning him. The massive beast struggles, and Sypha tenses, but the earth and stone hold strong. 

It growls and snarls and howls, a bone-chilling sound that echoes in the night. Theodore and Alexander shiver, but neither of them take a step back. 

“Great job,” Trevor says approvingly, clapping both of them on the shoulders. “Your teamwork was excellent, and neither of you hesitated in battle. Now, who wants to do the honors?”

He holds out the whip, Vampire Killer. Sypha keeps one eye on them and the other on the werewolf, still restrained, unable to break through the prison of earth and stone, and she feels a flash of pride in her sons’ abilities. This may be their first hunting excursion, but they’ve been students of magic since they were toddlers. 

Alex reaches for the whip, a look of awe on his face. “Really?” 

“Really.” Trevor smiles. 

Neither he or Sypha miss the look that Theodore sends the werewolf. Theo looks at the beast, and then at both of them in turn.

“It’s the only way, Theo,” Trevor says softly. 

Sypha steps forward and wraps a comforting arm around her son’s shoulder. He turns his head to press against her arm, and she feels the warmth of his skin. “You don’t have to look,” she murmurs, and he nods. 

Theo lets her lead him a safe distance away. Keeping her arm around him as he stares determinedly down at the ground, Sypha watches as Trevor instructs Alex on how to wield the whip, patient and thorough as always. She can’t help but smile slightly, as she does whenever she sees Trevor teaching their sons. Outside of geography, he’s been completely useless with Theo and Alex’s “book learning,” but they couldn’t have had a better teacher for everything physical - from climbing trees and survival skills to combat, hand-to-hand and with every weapon under the sun. 

Alex wields the whip like a natural. At the word from his father, he strikes without hesitation. There’s a blinding flash of light, and the werewolf crumbles into ashes. 

“Yes!” Alex crows. “I did it! I did it!”

“You did it well,” Trevor says. “And next time, you might want to try flicking your wrist a little more horizontally rather than vertically, like this, watch…”

“It’s over,” Sypha whispers, squeezing Theo around the shoulders.

“I know,” he says, looking up at her. There’s still a sadness in his face. “One day Uncle Alucard will find a cure for them. Then we won’t have to do this anymore.”

Sypha leans down, pressing a kiss to the top of his dark head. “Yes,” she says. “But you were very brave tonight.”

Theo gives her a small smile, a bit of his usual spirit returning. “I know.” 

Sypha heaves a mock sigh. “You’re just like your father.” 

“I know that, too,” Theo retorts, taking a step back. “I’m going to go say congratulations to Alex. He’s wanted to use Vampire Killer for ages. He never shuts up about it.”

“Go,” Sypha says, and he runs off. As soon as Alex sees him coming, he immediately stops paying any attention to his father’s instruction. The two of them chatter together, Trevor completely forgotten, but looking amused by it.

Sypha walks over to join them, and Trevor takes her hand, kissing her on the forehead. “Well, the first Belmont family hunt has been a great success,” he says.

“I expected nothing less.” Sypha stands on the tips of her toes, pressing a kiss to his lips. 

Trevor wraps his arms around her. “Here’s to many more,” he says.

Sypha smiles. “Yes. But for now, Theo, Alex,” she calls, taking Trevor’s hand, and intertwining their fingers together. “Let’s go home.”

 

* * *

 

_ the end _

 

* * *

Thank you so, so much to everybody who has left comments and kudos on this story. <3 It’s been lovely to write my vision of what I hope Trevor and Sypha’s life together will be, and it’s made me so happy to hear that others have enjoyed it too. 

  
  



End file.
